Chapter Text
Bluestreak wasn’t sure when it started, but he and the twins had fallen into a little routine. One, or sometimes both of them (though it was very cramped on those days), would come with him early to help him with the datapads in Prowl’s lab, if doing nothing more than to keep him company while his hands moved on their own. Then they would meet up with the other twin, if the need required, and get some energon before their classes began.
It was easy, comfortable, familiar. Bluestreak found himself less and less nervous about if he was talking their audials off, as both of the twins seemed to genuinely enjoy his company. He talked a lot about racing with Sideswipe, each eager to discuss the most recent races broadcast from Velocitron, and debate stats between their favorites. He’d noticed if he strayed too far from a topic Sideswipe was interested in, his attention tended to slip a little, though Bluestreak didn’t take it personally. Sideswipe’s processor was busy, especially so after Prowl had finally cornered him and forced encouraged him into joining the Quantum Mathematical Tactics program.
With Sunstreaker, Bluestreak’s topics could be as broad as he needed them to be. Sunstreaker seemed content to listen to anything and everything that came out of his mouth. He had questions about most topics, and Bluestreak was eager to answer his questions, to sort through the massive loads of knowledge in his processor and share it with mechs he cared about.
Prowl’s mood had soured more since Sideswipe joined his classes. Sideswipe was constantly getting under the older Praxian’s plating, and his laughter was infectious, and he’d gotten Bluestreak in trouble on more than one occasion from laughter that bubbled out of his chassis. Prowl had given them both strict orders to stay as far as physically possible away from each other during their lessons, and still Sideswipe would send him pms on their commlinks to goad him into a fit of giggles.
Sideswipe was a terrible influence on him, and Bluestreak wouldn’t have it any other way. He hadn’t had this much fun in stellar cycles. Still, something was nagging him that he couldn’t quite figure out, no matter how many times he turned it over in his processor.
It was Sunstreaker. He was prideful, vain, and sometimes more than a little arrogant. But he was also attentive, kind, and gave good advice when Bluestreak asked or needed it. He knew the brawler was capable of serious damage, but he’d been nothing but gentle with him, protective even. Though he knew Sunstreaker wouldn’t hurt him, Bluestreak couldn’t shake this twisting in his tanks that churned when they were alone. It made him jumpy, his doorwings twitchy. He had run a thousand program checks, concerned that maybe he had gotten a virus from the sketchy skimming program he utilized so frequently.
Every check came back normal, which only served to confuse Bluestreak more. He needed to talk to someone about this- but who? Prowl was bound to short-circuit if he suspected that Sunstreaker did anything to Bluestreak, and Jazz was busy with the concert season rapidly approaching. Most of his free time went to ensuring his students were ready and giving private practice to the ones that needed more help.
No, Bluestreak needed to talk to someone outside of his household. Ratchet, maybe? Bluestreak turned that over in his processor for a moment, before he decided against it. Ratchet would probably insist on running health checks on him, and he didn’t really want to address the ever so slightly illegal mods he’d installed. Mirage? No, he’d tell Jazz, who would tell Prowl probably. Smokescreen was busy with the building of New Praxus, which Bluestreak hadn’t even begun to unpack the feelings that little project dredged up in his tanks.
No, there really only was one mech he could think to ask about, but getting a chance to speak with him would be exceedingly difficult. As Bluestreak stared at his ceiling in his berth, he debated even comming him, a little niggling worm in the back of his processor convinced such a silly problem like this would merely be a nuisance to him. Bluestreak shook his helm and pulled up his contact information, sending a quick message asking to meet up if he had time in his schedule. Once the message was sent and he could no longer stress himself out about it, Bluestreak fell into his recharge cycle.
…
Optimus hadn’t been expecting a message from one of his favorite Praxians, though he was not opposed to seeing him at all. It had been far too long since their last visit, and he had missed the bubbly little mech. Bluestreak held a special place in the Prime’s spark, mostly as he had watched the incredible progress he’d made as he’d grown from that terrified, mute sparkling to a bubbling fountain of words that made him the mech he was today.
He received his message once he had woken groggily from his recharge cycle, Megatron’s heavy arm tossed lazily over the Prime’s midsection. He allowed himself a moment for his optics to boot fully to life, blinking in the early morning sunlight that filtered through their private quarters. He rubbed a servo over his face, the last few traces of his recharge cycle leaving at the stimulation.
Next to him, Megatron groaned into his pillow and turned his faceplates into it, as though that would block the sunlight out of the room. Optimus huffed a laugh and patted his bonded’s backplate with a hollow thump.
“We must face the day, my love.” Optimus’s vocal synthesis was thick from his recharge, and he reset it a couple times to clear it out. He was met with a huffy groan as the former warlord grumbled something in Kaonic into his pillow. Optimus swung his legs over the edge of their berth and stretched a few times, the kinks in his backstrut complaining as they worked themselves out.
After he had secured a fresh mug of steaming hot caf for himself and his sleepy lover, Optimus returned to their quarters, where he set the extra mug on the berthside table for Megs. He pressed a little kiss to his helm, and earned himself a hum in response, his partner finally conceding defeat in his daily battle with the sunlight. Megatron sat up and blinked groggily, his field a confused jumble of early morning feelings. Even before the war, Megatron had never been a morning mech, Optimus thought with a bemused smile.
Optimus sat next to Megatron’s legs on the berth as the Kaonian pushed himself up to sit, taking a long sip of his caf. Optimus was patient, and after so many stellar cycles since their reunion, he had relearned their morning routine, relearned to give his grouchy companion a little time to wake up and re-energize before assaulting him with the day’s agenda.
While he waited for Megatron to sort his tired processor out, Optimus idly flipped through the many messages pinging on his HUD. Most were status reports from outer worlds where they were still skirmishing with rogue ex-Decepticons, which was steadily becoming less and less frequent of an occurrence. A few were requests for meetings from dignitaries of city-states across Cybertron’s surface. Several were from Prowl, one of his other favorite Praxians. He worried for him. He had devoted himself so fully to his position as the Chief Tactical Officer that Optimus had noticed he had a very hard time adjusting to a more retired life.
And, most curiously, a message from his favorite Praxian: Baby Bluestreak. The Prime’s optics flickered over his message, which described having some confusing feelings around another mech, requesting a meeting for some advice, for the most part. There were some small tangents sprinkled in with the rest of his message, but it was rather concise for Bluestreak.
< Good morning, Bluestreak. I am always happy to see you, you need not be so formal with me; I did watch you grow up, after all. My time is yours. Come see me when you have a chance, and I will make room in my schedule for you. >
Optimus sent his reply as he finished the last swig of caf from his mug. Megatron grumbled a “good morning” as he swung his legs over the edge of their berth. He brushed his field against Optimus’ own, fuzzy with sleep, but a pleasant affection running through it steadily. The Matrix hummed in his chest, and Optimus brushed back with a similar feeling in his field.
“Good morning, my love.” Optimus scootched closer to the gray plated warrior next to him, which earned him a small smile.
“Good morning, my lark.” Megatron’s vocal synthesis was still thick with the static of his recharge, and he did not bother to reset it. His frame was slightly hunched over, a telling sign that one of his old injuries was acting up. A small trickle of guilt wormed down Optimus’ backstrut, and as he usually did, he wondered if that was from a wound he himself inflicted.
Megatron’s yellow optics caught the Prime’s and he sat straighter. He rolled his shoulders back and vented, a billow of steam rolling out of his mug in response.
“This has plagued me since before I met you, Orion.”
“And yet I seem to distinctly remember splitting your plating open in that exact spot.”
“Must we begin each morning with melancholy?” Megatron sighed and rested his helm a little awkwardly on Optimus’ pauldron. A burst of joy bubbled in Optimus’ spark, and he let the past lie.
“Have you any plans for today?” It was a little dance they did each morning. They would ask if the other had plans, knowing full well that they always had busy schedules, playfully try to talk one another out of it to lie in berth with the other, and then reluctantly go about their day. It was a comfortable routine they shared each morning.
“I do.”
“That is a shame, my lark.” Megatron set his empty mug on the table next to Optimus’. His servo came up to cradle Optimus’ faceplates, sending pleasant trickles of energy through him. Optimus leaned into his touch.
“And what would it take to convince you to spend the day with me, instead? Here in our berth.” Megatron rested his forehelm against Optimus’, letting his optics slide close. Optimus took the opportunity to drink in his beloved’s faceplates, the angles and curves that made up the face of his bonded.
“Very little.” Optimus pressed a kiss to Megatron’s lips, soft and chaste. Neither could afford to spend the day with prickling plates and overheated derma. Megatron sighed into him, but pulled himself away with a small, tired smile.
“Alas, the world would not be so understanding as you.” Megatron rubbed his thumb over Optimus’ cheekplate before he rose to his pedes and offered him a servo to pull the Prime to his as well, which he took readily.
“Do you have anything you are looking forward to today, my love?” Optimus’s voice was soft and quiet. Reserved for those closest to him. His voice before he was Optimus Prime, the voice of Orion Pax. Megatron made his way towards the hallway, where Optimus followed him.
“No, I am afraid not. There is some civil disobedience in Kaon that I must see to. A group of overzealous idealists are working to dismantle what we have worked tirelessly for, Orion.” Megatron walked slowly, taking in every moment that they could glean together. It was exceedingly rare to have a moment together, even just a passing one, so the duo had come to appreciate and treasure their mornings.
“I see. Do you require assistance?”
“I don’t think so. If anything changes, you will be the first mech to know, my lark.” Megatron squeezed Optimus’ servo and gave him a soft smile. Not for the first time, Optimus felt his spark twist with a memory of how desperately he had missed this.
“My nephew will be coming by soon, I believe. He sounded quite urgent in his message.” Optimus offered, if for nothing more than to stall their time together. Megatron’s optic ridges quirked upwards.
“Your nephew?” Megatron echoed, his interest piqued.
“Yes. By want for a more specific familial tie. He is the sparkling that you became oh-so distraught about many stellar-cycles ago, or do you not remember?” Optimus’ engine rumbled playfully. He remembered how flustered Megatron had gotten through their sparkbond when the tiny sparkling that Bluestreak was had accidentally activated Optimus’ paternal programming. They had still been sworn enemies at the time, but his lover’s jealousy had been palpable through their bond.
“Ah, yes. I do remember something like that.” Megatron looked away in a vain attempt to hide the embarrassed flush that settled on his cheekplates. “The thought that you had taken another hurt more than any blade could ever, Orion.”
“I know, my love.” Optimus kissed his love, before a ping on his HUD told him he needed to get his pedes in gear or he would be late for a meeting with Ultra Magnus, which he wanted to avoid at any and all costs.
“Go, then. Tell me about your meetings later.” Megatron squeezed his servos once more before he turned and walked towards the other end of the Atrium, towards the shuttle that would ferry him to Kaon. Optimus watched him walk away with a little twinge in his spark, but the fear of a Magnus lecture was enough to urge his pedes into double time as he hurried to their meeting.
…
Bluestreak was more than a little surprised when Optimus had told him to just come on over, but he wouldn’t complain. He’d been growing jumpier and jumpier the longer he was alone with Sunstreaker, and he could tell it was starting to affect their friendship. He’d started keeping a more respectful distance whenever they shared small spaces, which left Blue feeling strangely cold.
So, since he’d had the day off anyways, Bluestreak made his way to the Atrium, the large capital building of Iacon. It was recently constructed after the peace treaty as a safe haven for Autobots and Decepticons, as well as other public official business. His dads had spent stellar cycles stressing over it (especially Prowl), and he had gone round and round with Red Alert and the Constructicons making sure it was all but impenetrable.
It wasn’t like he’d never been here before. He came here relatively frequently, compared to most mechs, but then again, most mechs didn’t have Optimus Prime waiting outside for them. He spotted the tall, red and blue silhouette of his uncle, for lack of a more fitting word, as he ascended the white and gold stairs that led to the main entrance. Optimus was talking with Ultra Magnus, who had his scolding expression on his faceplates. Yeah, Bluestreak was certain he would never miss that.
“OP!” He called cheerily, hoping to save the exasperated Prime from the relentless Ultra Magnus. Ultra Magnus dipped his helm in greeting as Optimus bid him goodbye. He jogged over and pulled Blustreak off his pedes and into a crushing hug, his field a steady field of calm and joy. It was a comforting reminder of his sparkhood, Bluestreak thought as he smiled into Optimus’ shoulder.
“It is good to see you, little one.” Optimus set him back on the ground, and Bluestreak pretended he didn’t notice the various faces gawking at them. This was definitely not going to help the ‘Bluestreak is Optimus Prime’s secret lovechild’ conspiracy that had been circulating since he was born, but he didn’t mind for that right now.
“It’s great to see you too, Opie!” Bluestreak grinned up at him, his spark swirling with familiarity. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed the Prime. He’d spent many, many days of his sparkhood clambering on the Prime’s lap as though he were a jungle gym. Sometimes, a tiny, selfish part of him felt that Optimus was fatherlier to him than Prowl was. At least Optimus wasn’t afraid to hug him in public. Bluestreak quickly shoved those thoughts away.
“What troubles you, my friend? You wrote me of feeling confused and in need of guidance. Was this not something you felt comfortable discussing with your parents?” Optimus looked down at him as he led him inside. Bluestreak felt a little ripple of energy as he crossed the threshold of the Atrium and his subspaced weapons were catalogued by Red Alert’s security protocols.
“Well… a little bit, honestly.” Bluestreak buzzed his wings, a ripple of anxiety pulsing down his backstrut, which was quickly soothed by a wave of calm from Optimus’ field. Optimus led the significantly shorter mech into his domicile, which was on the upper most floor of the sprawling domed building. Bluestreak plopped onto the oversized couch and nearly sunk into it, having not been the weight class it was designed for.
Optimus sat in a chair across from him and placed a small cube of energon before him, and though it was just plain energon, Bluestreak was confident that the act of drinking something would help him to relax a little. Optimus crossed one leg over the other and swirled his own, larger cube of energon.
“Tell me what is on your mind, little one.” Optimus smiled good-naturedly at Bluestreak. It was still a little unnerving: seeing Optimus without his mouthguard on. He’d had it on near constantly until the peace treaty, when he had proclaimed there was need no longer for a battle mask and hadn’t worn it since.
“Well… I’ve been spending a lot of time with Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Do you know them?” Bluestreak began, his digits picking at the seam of Optimus’ couch. The older mech thought for a moment.
“I have heard of them, though I have not met them myself. Their reputation as efficient, frontline warriors precedes them.” Optimus swirled his energon cube thoughtfully. “Though, their reputation as free-spirited, battle-hungry mechs who refuse to follow commands also precedes them.”
“That’s… kinda what my parents said.” Bluestreak sighed into his cube before he took a sip of it. Optimus hummed thoughtfully.
“I cannot imagine you asked to meet simply to tell me of a new friendship.” Optimus mused before taking a swig of his own energon cube. “Please, continue.” He nodded. Bluestreak took a deep breath.
“Well- it’s Sunstreaker, actually.” The sniper began, picking at the stray thread on Optimus’ couch nervously. “I feel… weird around him.”
“’Weird”? Weird how, Bluestreak?” Optimus rumbled, his optic ridge quirked as he looked over the shorter mech. Blue felt his doorwings twitch as he tried to articulate the messy feelings in his processor.
“Well- Okay, so, like, when I’m around him I get super antsy, and it feels like my tanks are all twisty like I’m sick, but I know I’m not sick. My spark gets all fluttery and weird and- and then he does stuff like listen to me talk, and he actually, like, listens to what I say and asks questions and engages, and-“ Bluestreak swallowed hard. “My wings get all twitchy when I’m around him, and I just- I fell and he caught me once and I just keep thinking about that? I feel like my plating gets all itchy-“ Optimus’ quiet, rumbling chuckle interrupted Bluestreak’s frazzled stream of words. He looked up at the Prime, optic ridges furrowed with concern.
“What? What’s so funny, Opie?” Bluestreak picked at the stray thread a little harder. Optimus looked at him, a bemused smile on his lips.
“Bluestreak, it would seem you are describing a crush.” His frame shook slightly with the echoes of his laughter. Bluestreak’s faceplates heated up suddenly.
“What! No-no, no! I don’t- I don’t have a crush on Sunstreaker!” Bluestreak protested, his wings flaring indignantly. There was no way. Just absolutely none. He was friends with Sunstreaker, nothing more! He didn’t notice the way Sunstreaker kept his plating supremely polished, or how his paint had changed to something with flecks of metallic alongside the sunshine gold. And Bluestreak definitely didn’t notice the fact that Sunstreaker’s new wax left the sweet scent of leather and steel and made his processor fuzzy.
Bluestreak definitely didn’t get tingly whenever they brushed against one another, or their digits touched when they passed one another a datapad, or when Sunstreaker stood over his shoulder with his plating nearly touching Bluestreak’s wings and-
Oh. Wait- wait a minute.
No. no no no nO. NO.
Absolutely not! This- no! There was absolutely no possible way Bluestreak had a crush on Sunstreaker of all mechs! He was his friend (and, not to mention, super out of his league!). Also, Bluestreak was pretty sure that Prowl would short-circuit if he ever even thought that they were more than friends.
Which they weren’t and they were never going to be! Because Bluestreak didn’t have a damn crush on Sunstreaker!
A soft, rumbling chuckle snapped Bluestreak out of his spiral. Optimus was looking at him over the rim of his energon cube, his optics twinkling with mirth.
“I take it you were not aware of your feelings, Bluestreak?” The Prime rumbled. Bluesteak huffed and flared his doorwings.
“No I- I don’t have feelings for Sunny, okay? It’s just- we’re just friends, Op!”
“And yet, you describe your feelings as “twisting tanks” and “a fluttering spark”.” Optimus mused as he idly swirled his cube. Bluestreak felt heat rush to his cheeks.
“That- that’s different. It’s not a crush.” The Praxian insisted stubbornly, despite the nagging voice of reason in the back of his helm that echoed with truth. Did he have a crush on Sunstreaker? That was… definitely something he needed to sit and think about for a very long while.
Optimus seemed to recognize this (because of course he did, Bluestreak thought, he was Optimus), and pivoted a topic change into their conversation. The two visited for a good joor or two, catching up and reminiscing about Bluestreak’s childhood.
The longer Optimus talked, the more Bluestreak relaxed. His idle fidgeting died down to a warm, safe feeling glowing gently inside of his core. It was always nice to catch up with the Prime- Bluestreak wasn’t really sure why he didn’t meet up with him more often, honestly.
Bluestreak’s HUD lit up with a notification from Sunstreaker, making his tanks lurch suddenly (which he definitely ignored). The Praxian took a breath and opened the comm.
< hey blue. Sides is having a party- you should come so I dont have to deal with that alone.>
Sunstreaker was inviting him to a party? Prowl would kill him if he knew. Bluestreak smothered a grin and quickly sent a reply.
<hey sunny!! Yeah I’d love to go! >
< oh, sorry! I forgot you don’t like being called that haha >
< is the party at your hab or is it somewhere else? >
< also when is it lol >
Bluestreak nearly forgot about Optimus sitting across from him until Bluestreak caught the knowing smile on the Prime’s faceplates. A strange flush of heat rose to his cheeks and he cleared his throat.
“Uh- Sorry, Op, I just- Sunstreaker sent me a comm and-“
“There is no need to apologize, Bluestreak.” Optimus chuckled into his nearly-empty energon cube. “I had assumed as much.”
Oh, that made it even worse! Was it really that obvious??
Bluestreak fought the urge to cover his face with his servos and instead took another drink of his energon in an attempt to hide the embarrassed color on his cheeks. He definitely didn’t jump when he got another ping from Sunstreaker.
< dont worry about it, blue. I dont care when you call me sunny it just pisses me off when sides does it. >
< its tonight at our hab. ill send you the coords.>
< see you then. >
Bluestreak’s spark clenched and gave a nervous little flutter. Oh jeez. Oh jeez!! Did he actually have a crush on the bruiser? Oh Primus.
Bluestreak cleared his throat and got to his pedes. “Thanks for seeing me, Optimus. I really super appreciate it.” He rubbed the back of his helm as the Prime stood up as well, towering over the Praxian.
“I enjoy our meetings, Bluestreak. I hope I was able to provide insight on your relationship issues.” Optimus smiled at him, a slight, gentle upturn of the corners of his lips. Bluestreak flushed again.
“Ah- y-yeah, you did. Thanks, really.” Bluestreak laughed nervously and offered a smile of his own. Optimus led Bluestreak out of his habsuite and they began to walk back towards the entrance of the Atrium.
“I hope you will come and visit again soon.” Optimus rumbled over Bluestreak’s shoulder as the two paused next to the entrance. Bluestreak gave a little flick of his wings.
“Are you sure? I mean, you’re just so busy; can you really spare the time just to hang out with me?” Bluestreak furrowed his optic ridges as he craned his helm to look up at Optimus. Optimus frowned and turned towards him to face him better.
“I am certain, Bluestreak. You are an old friend and a trusted ally, and one I have had the privilege of being involved in your life as you grew from a sparkling to the mech standing before me now, and the involvement in your life going forward would please me greatly.” Optimus set a heavy servo on Bluestreak’s shoulder.
Oh. Okay. Wow.
A warm, almost giddy rush of feelings bubbled up inside of Bluestreak. So many all at once that he had to actively try and sort them out. Affection, appreciation, strange parental affection-
Bluestreak felt a happy little grin sneak out onto his faceplates and he reached up to give Optimus’ servo a little squeeze.
“Optimus, I’d love for you to be uh- involved, I guess.” Bluestreak chuckled a little bit. “I just- if you’re sure you’re not too busy…”
“I am certain.” Optimus soothed again. “Now, you must be on your way.” Optimus nodded at him. He gave his shoulder a final squeeze, before Bluestreak turned and walked out of the Atrium, pedes lighter than they had been in weeks as he treaded towards his home.