#Deflation is not something Orion has an issue with

[whatdoyouexpectthistime]

Snakes an Starships: V

See PART I for general context and spoiler warning.  NSFW PART II PART III PART IV

NSFW

There was simply no mistaking the suggestion in Miho’s tone, nor the way her gaze lingered on certain parts of his anatomy before she made purposeful eye contact.

“Just how often do you get an open invitation from a princess?” she sighed out, and Orion could almost see those words: a sinuous line of seduction dropping a noose around his neck.

“Not often,” he admitted, fingers tensing into fists. “But I’m…”

“Not interested in girls like me?” she finished for him cheekily, and gave a shrug before turning toward the other end of the cabin. “That is a terrible shame.”

“You like to put words in the mouths of others, don’t you?” he said, close behind her, and Miho grinned.

“I do,” she agreed, playfully, and when she lolled her head back, she was satisfied to find it nestled quite snuggly against his shoulder at the crook of his neck. “Are you feeling the need to reciprocate?” she purred, speaking against his throat. “Or is there something other than words you’d like to put into my mouth?”

“Among other places,” he hissed, hands falling against her hips and digging in lightly.

The taste of adrenaline was still bitter on his tongue, and though he was not oblivious to the dangers of becoming entangled with a woman like Miho, she was right. There had been many times, close calls – some far too close – he had returned to the Promise wound so tightly he thought he’d shatter. And there was little release but for his own company, which was a far cry from the intoxicating promise of a woman’s delicate flesh beneath his fingers.

“Go on then, Captain,” she whispered, grinding back against him. “Don’t be shy, take what you want – I won’t complain… unless you disappoint me.”

She had barely uttered the last taunting word when Orion pushed her forward, forcing her to brace with her hands against the cold, metal shutter.

“That’s a start,” she sighed, the heat of his fingers sliding from her belt buckle to curl over the top of her leggings and drag downwards to her ankles.

“Shame you didn’t get to wear your new outfit very long,” he said against the top of her shoulder, his hands snaking over her breasts to the zipper of her jacket.

“Damn shame,” she grinned, spinning around the moment her jacket hit the floor and crushing her lips against his.

This brought back the rush of their retreat, and with the pressure of an entire city looking for a killer squeezing them tightly, their bodies released control and inhibition. In a frenzy of clattering peripherals and the rustle and fling of fabric, both ignored the possibility of the shutters suddenly opening, and enjoyed unconstrained exploration of each other’s bodies.

Orion was unsurprised Miho was no shrinking violet, meeting the urgency of his own mounting want with equal fervour. He put aside the idea she had won her way like this in other circumstances, for it honestly didn’t matter. Instead, with chest heaving and eyes smouldering, he watched as she slid down his body and settled on her knees.

“Sit,” she commanded, wicked smile adding to the already prominent sense of danger twisted with desire in Orion’s stomach. “Or you will fall,” she added, smoothing her palms up his thighs, her thumbs grazing sensitive flesh until her hands fell completely away.

She sat before him, but Orion was under no illusion that she had the power. The slightest touch of her tongue against the tip of his shaft was excruciating, a fleeting shock of exquisite sensation that caused him to shudder and inch forward. When he reached out to cup her cheek, then comb his fingers into her hair, she seemed pleased, and rewarded him with the full, moist warmth of her mouth and the delicious force of her lips around his cock.

Dropping his head back, Orion let out a low groan, tightening his grip in Miho’s hair and drawing her back and forth against him with increasing fervour. And even trough watering eyes, Miho’s focus remained fixed on him defiantly, challenging him not to cum embarrassingly soon while doing everything she could to push him right over the edge. Her tongue swirled purposeful circles each time he passed her lips, and though she braced herself against the bench with one hand, the other encouraged his arousal with playful fingers.

“Grrr, enough!” he barked suddenly, and actually caught Miho off guard when he pushed her backwards.

Just as it seemed her head would crack against the floor, she felt it cushioned by the curl of Orion’s arm beneath, followed by his weight on top.

“Reached your limit alr…” she began cheekily, but her triumphant chuckle was muffled unexpectedly by a kiss so fierce, so deep and probing, when he allowed her to surface she was gasping for breath.

“Ha,” she hissed out. “A man who’ll kiss a girl who not moments ago had her lips around his cock?”

“No doubt they’ve been worse places,” he volleyed, burying his face in her neck and his free hand between her legs.

An intense shock burst through her, so sharp and delightful her back arched against the firm massage of his thumb on her clit, while his fingers curled within.

“Ahh, not the first time you’ve done this,” she exhaled heavily, lips quivering as he dragged his teeth over her shoulder before returning ravenously to her mouth.

His erection pressed insistently into her inner thigh, and she wanted it, wanted to feel full, but Orion was now trailing kisses down her body – over her breasts, pinching one nipple between his teeth before settling his face between her legs and lapping over the inflammation of her sensitive bud.

“Ohhh… yes…” she moaned, sifting her fingers through his hair as he worked magic into her flesh.

A strangely familiar, oddly nostalgic sense flickered within her, along with the intricate motion of Orion’s tongue, but it was fleeting – overwhelmed as she lifted to her pelvis to meet each skilled thrust and the determined suckle over her clit.

“Give me more!” she demanded hoarsely, digging her fingernails into his shoulders and trying to pull him back up.

Orion lifted his head, licking his lips, his chin, and his expression told Miho he was both drunk with carnal desire and fighting it at the same time.

“We can’t,” he panted, shaking his head, but there was a persistent glaze in his eyes that Miho knew well – and it begged him to throw caution to the wind.

“Oh, yes we can,” she growled, shoving against his slightly sweat glistening chest with enough force to push him back into a crouch. “And we’re going to.”

“Miho, wait,” he insisted when she crawled forward against him, curling one arm round his neck.

“You think covert operatives don’t take chemical precautions?” she rasped before biting down on his lower lip, drawing it into his mouth and dragging away slowly, all the while grinding her hips against his lap, coiling her legs around him. “Or is it you think I’m the danger here?”

“Oh, you’re a danger,” he grimaced, his hands gripping her waist, but his efforts to keep her from working his shaft to her impatient entrance, were at best half-hearted.

“Your doctor,” she whispered against his soft earlobe, “gave me a clean bill of health.”

Orion hadn’t thought of that, and it was true.

“Are you sure?” he managed, voice strained, brows knitted, and again Miho had cause to look amused… then extremely serious.

“Let me sink down on you, Captain,” she breathed, speaking the words from one corner of his mouth to the other. “Let me swallow you whole, squeeze you – I want you pulsing inside me, pounding until I cum so hard I forget my own name.”

That was waaaay too much for Orion, who instantly pulled her down onto him, full force penetration, a deep sense of satisfaction and the reckless abandon of his animal instincts.

There were no more words to spare, just the frantic ballet of Miho’s body undulating against Orion, the joining of their bodies a passionate, rhythmic dance set to the sound of heavy breathing, the slap of skin on skin, and the mounting inevitability of each other’s climax.

And when they had rocked the boat – and each other – most thoroughly, Orion drew Miho into his arms and held her as they both tried to catch their breaths, lightly stroking her arm, across her collarbone, her throat, with feather-light fingertips.

“Are you all right?” he asked softly, brushing moist hair from her forehead.

“Oh yes,” Miho grinned languidly, bathing in the afterglow. “Is it bad of me to hope this lockdown continues so you can regain some of your stamina?”

Orion exhaled a husky chuckle.

“Yes,” he answered, humming a little before making another addition. “And… no.”

“And for a bounty hunter you came across as such an upstanding individual,” Miho laughed, and stretched out her legs a little, legs that Orion promptly entwined with his own. “Mmm you know, there is only one other man in all the galaxy I know with that tongue technique,” she mused, tracing her fingertip around one of Orion’s nipples, the sharp edge leaving a light scratch mark among many much deeper. “And I guarantee he isn’t enjoying himself nearly as much as you are right now.”

“Tongue technique?” Orion repeated, on the verge of expressing her lack of manners talking about another man while he still held her in his arms, but he shuddered a little as Miho slithered her tongue front he nipple she’d been torturing, to his Adam’s apple.

“Don’t look so offended, Orion,” she breathed, kissing lightly along his tensed jawline. “It’s a compliment of the highest order – believe me…”

A little awkwardly given the compact nature of the cabin, Miho wriggled until she laid on top of Orion, and settled back against his chest.

“Very few can make me see stars like that,” she sighed blissfully. “I almost want to keep you.”

“I’m not a pet,” he frowned, but Miho simple placed her lips over each crease.

“No, but you could be a delectable periodic pitstop in my travels,” she pointed out, the tip of her nose touching his as she peered down into eyes she felt now were also quite familiar.

This time, however, she chose to say nothing on the subject, and kissed him again – this time so very gently, almost tenderly. It made Orion’s head spin a little at how quickly this woman changed gears, but while they continued to be in lockdown, there were worse things in the universe to do… than her.

 Returning to the Promise after the end of the lockdown proved to be a non-event. No one had come to search the water taxi in which Miho and Orion had taken refuge, and Miho found this curious though obviously convenient. She and the captain didn’t talk about what they had done, and they sure as hell weren’t holding hands and singing love songs, but there was an oddly comfortable familiarity between them; both had enjoyed the unexpected interaction, and Miho marked Orion down as definite ‘contact’.

If only Jaxon knew how detailed her ‘little black book’ of names was, he’d be floored.

“You look well rested,” Jazz noted, seeming a little tired herself, rubbing her eyes.

“And you don’t,” Orion frowned. “Everything alright?”

“Well, that depends on your definition,” she shrugged, and opened her mouth to continue when Jenna came racing up to them, Atlas trudging behind her more slowly – probably because he was carrying several heavy looking bags.

“You’ll never guess what happened!” she exclaimed giddily, and Miho arched a brow at her enthusiasm. “Atlas and I got locked into the apartment Jaxon’s source sent us to, and there was only one bed!”

By the time Atlas had stomped to Jazz’s side and dropped his cargo, Jazz was looking at him with interest.

“Don’t gimme that look, Love,” Atlas rumbled, leaning closer to her. “Made her sleep on the floor.”

“Only one bed, huh?” Miho chuckled. “Wow, Orion and I didn’t even get that lucky.”

Orion coughed, then cleared his throat.

“So long as everyone is back in one piece,” he said in a bit of a rush, which awarded him inquisitive looks from both Jazz and Atlas.

“Don’t celebrate just yet,” Jazz edged in. “There’s someone waiting for you. Soon as he saw the Promise, he refused to leave.”

Even before Orion’s head snapped to Miho, she knew who he was referring to, and she rolled her eyes.

“Ugh, well I have questions for Commodore Fairchild myself,” she grunted, and began stomping up the ramp.

But before Miho could reach the bridge, Orion caught her wrist.

“Wait a second,” he exhaled, giving her a slight nudge against the wall.

“You want to go again right here?” she queried, but she didn’t seem really in the mood.

“No,” he shook his head. “There’s something you should know.”

“Clone?” she offered with a slightly raised eyebrow.

“What?” Orion responded, confused.

“No, you’re right,” Miho mused, tilting her head a little. “Cunnalingus instructor? Nah, that doesn’t explain your eyes. Cousin? Brother?”

Orion blinked at Miho openly, and she chortled.

“You’re being ridiculously obvious, Captain,” she laughed, giving his cheek a light pat. “All I need now is some confirmation.”

“Brother,” Orion answered, lifting his chin a little. “We’re twins.”

Miho chewed her lower lip, considering him nose to nose.

“Special arrangement indeed,” she smirked, then began again down the corridor to the bridge.

There, she found Nova and Jaxon ‘guarding’ Antares, who got to his feet and glowered at her fiercely; not to be intimidated, Miho threw down the bag carrying her weapon, and simply stood her ground.

“Are you going to bow to your princess, or say hello to your brother first?” she smile smugly, and Antares swept up to her, incredibly unamused.

“What, are you doing here, Miho?” he growled, but Orion forced his way in between them as the others arrived on the bridge.

“Atlas,” he said, though he was still looking at Antares. “I’d like to get clear of this planet.”

“Can we dump him first?” Atlas grated, handing over what he was carrying to Nova, before flopping into his seat.

“Got a little something on your cape there, Commodore,” Miho grinned around Orion’s shoulder. “Not really up to uniform code.”

“I could say the same thing for you, Princess,” he volleyed coldly. “What were you doing on Eryl, and why are you with him?”

“Why do you insist on asking questions you know I’m not going to answer?” Miho sniffed. “Furthermore, I need a shower, and I’m absolutely starving – Captain?”

“You can use my quarters,” he acquiesced. “Jenna, could you show her where…”

“Stay right where you are,” Antares commanded, and Jenna froze, looking helpless.

“This is my ship, Commodore,” Orion said, his tone tight. “And Miho is a guest, and while she is a guest, my word is the only one that matters. Go ahead, Princess, just follow Jenna.”

Without another sideways glance at Antares, Miho followed Jenna off the bridge.

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with here,” Antares dropped crisply.

“I’m starting to get an idea,” Orion answered slowly. “Nova, I think our guest is probably going to need a fresh towel.”

“I got it,” Jaxon ejected, leaping up, but both Orion and Antares barked at him.

“No.”

“Don’t you dare,” Antares hissed, pointing at Jaxon.

“Yes, Captain,” Nova acknowledged, and departed.

“Let’s go and wait in the lounge,” Orion then suggested, and the pair of brothers moved out with Jaxon, to the sound of Atlas cursing the Empire dead-weight on board.

 Miho hummed as the water ran down her body, smiling whimsically as she smeared herself in soapy suds until she was thoroughly clean. She was still enjoying the warmth when there was a solid knock on the bathroom door, followed by the appearance Nova with a towel folded over her arm.

“Princess, the captain asked me to bring you this,” Nova said, loud enough for Miho to hear her.

Without hesitation, Miho shut off the water and stepped out of the spacious glass cubicle, dripping from head to toe.

“Mmm,” she murmured with a slight stretch. “I don’t suppose I can convince you to give me a hand? A couple perhaps?”

“Are you unable to manage on your own, Highness?” Nova enquired, deadpan. “Are princesses not taught to dress themselves?”

“Of course, I can,” Miho admitted. “But team work is always so much more… rewarding.”

“So, you are offering me a reward in exchange for my services?” Nova surmised, with eyebrows raised.

“My goodness, you make it all sound so sordid,” Miho chuckled, then reached for the towel that Nova relinquished.

“When you are ready, I will escort you to the lounge where you are awaited,” Nova declared, then exited to give Miho her privacy.

She didn’t rush, but didn’t dally too long either, and though without her tiara, she entered the lounge most regally with her escort and took stock of the room.

Everyone except Atlas was present, but even under the weight of their combined scrutiny, Miho didn’t seem the smallest bit uncomfortable.

Of course, it was Antares who spoke first, rocking to his feet, tall and straight.

“Imagine my surprise when I met with Admiral Yuul on Eryl – foremostly to determine what he was hauling that could have interested you so much,” he began, taking measured steps in Miho’s direction, “when he pops like a balloon before discussion can even commence.”

“They just don’t make Empire admirals like they used to,” Miho sighed, but there was cheek sparkling wildly in her eyes.

“Or princesses,” Jaxon muttered under his breath.

“Oh I’m the new improved model,” she announced triumphantly, defiance in the tip of her chin, which Antares swiftly snatched, thumb pressing firmly into her skin.

“New model?” he questioned, and he was looking for something, looking at her in a way he never had before.

“Antares,” Orion barked sternly. “Let her go.”

Deliberately, Antares craned his neck to look at his brother, while Miho remained still and remarkably unreactive to Antares’ physical trespass.

“What exactly is going on here?” Antares asked slowly, his gaze loitering on Orion a moment before passing an expectant eye over the rest - finally returning to Miho. “How in this or any other galaxy did you manage to get them on your side?”

“Magic,” Miho offered through a wicked grin.

A moment of silence fell, before Antares worked his jaw – cast Orion a meaningful glance – then resume his assessment of Miho’s expression.

“You didn’t,” he stated, voice low and quiet, perhaps only loud enough for she and him to hear.

“Why don’t you ask the questions you really want answers to, Commodore,” she whispered, leaning a little against his hold to breathe upon his lips.

There was something there in Antares’ face, Miho relished. Though it was ever so fleeting, his conclusion Orion’s reaction was because she had slept with him, did not sit well.

“Did you murder Admiral Yuul?” Antares asked flatly, now seeming in an even fouler mood.

“Oh yes,” Miho confirmed, satisfaction in the way she swaggered to Orion’s side and sat down. “Still, let me throw you a breadcrumb for free and say, I didn’t expect him to deflate any more than you did – though, the look on your face was priceless.”

“Deflate?” Tyrian repeated.

“Yep,” Miho nodded. “No bloody nuggets as expected, just a burst of purple light and then a crumpled skin-sack.”

“What the hell kind of being is that?” Jenna scowled, glancing up from the tablet she was tapping on.

“Yuul was human,” Miho responded. “Was, is, I don’t know what it was I killed, but it wasn’t the actual Admiral Yuul.”

“What are you thinking, Commodore?” Jazz prompted, noting Antares’ pensive silence.

“You didn’t know?” Antares asked Miho seriously, and she straightened in her seat.

“Yuul needed killing,” she explained clearly. “All his other crimes aside, he’s one of my father’s ass monkeys. If that wasn’t him, and it wasn’t, then where is he?”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve seen this,” Antares stated, and he had everyone’s attention.

PART VI

[hardygalwrites]

FanFiction.Net Link

(image source)

Cartoon: Transformers Prime

Characters: Smokescreen and Megatron, with flashback appearances from Prowl, Alpha Trion, and Team Prime

Synopsis: There’s nothing in the dark. Absolutely nothing. It’s freaky, and it sucks, but it’s preferable to letting Megatron get his servos on that information contained within the memories that keep on replacing the darkness. Just keep running. It sucks, but staying in the dark means keeping Megatron in the dark.

Right?

Note: Originally published on FFN early in 2018. Set during Season 2, Episode 23: Inside Job

—

The library was one of his favourite places in the Hall. When he wasn't in the outside courtyard, looking for any sign of what was going on beyond the Hall, he was inside the library, reading or studying some piece of lore or history. Or, occasionally, he would just be in the library to be in the library. It was quiet, but not in a bad way, and he could usually count on being alone in there. So, optics closed and servos clenched, Smokescreen just focused on steadying his venting.

There was a thought that kept on pulling at the back of his processor, asking why he was there, stating that something wasn't quite right, but he just had to ignore it. Chances were, he'd simply gotten into another argument with one of the perimeter guards and had finally lost his cool. The thought was strangely comforting, and Smokescreen let himself relax.

"The Hall of Records."

His vents hitched, and his optics snapped open.

"I do not think I have been here since Orion Pax still held his position as an archivist."

The voice echoed through the library, low, calm, yet shaking the Hall to its very foundations and rattling Smokescreen down to his protoform. His vents were beginning to pick up again, and Smokescreen turned every which way, searching every corner, every aisle, for the source of the thunderous voice.

"You're not supposed to be here!"

"I was not aware you knew anything about the Hall," the voice continued calmly, easily drowning out the echoes of Smokescreen's comparably more pathetic shout. "But no matter. There is only one thing you know that matters to me."

Smokescreen's doorwings stiffened. He spun around and looked up, optics widening. Standing there, much, much larger than Smokescreen remembered, was Megatron.

"The identical relics. What are their function?"

"Frag off!" Smokescreen turned and ran, out through the library doors and into a landscape of inky blackness.

There was nothing out there. No light, no sound, nothing. He could see his servos as he ran. He could hear his swift pedesteps and sharp vents, but it all seemed muted, as though the landscape sought to swallow anything that brought some form of tangibility to it.

A short, scathing scoff filled Smokescreen's audial receptors. "Futile."

Megatron's voice wasn't muted. If anything, the massless, shapeless world of nothing only seemed to amplify Megatron's voice, accepting it as the only other tangible thing to be contained within and giving unwanted company to a solitary bot, running from nothing, through nothing, to nothing.

"Your thoughts are mine to uncover. Nothing you want hidden can be hidden from me."

That was a challenge. Smokescreen slowed down, turning back to shout defiantly into the darkness. "Try me, bucket-helm!"

"Shhhh!"

Smokescreen glanced at his fellow guard, doorwings dipping.

"Sorry," he muttered, then looked back into the locked hall, optics continuing to examine every relic.

As he studied a certain relic that looked like an oversized key, he asked, "Hey, d'you think I could maybe, y'know...?"

The other guard scoffed. "Kid, your job's to keep an optic on Alpha Trion. Unless he decides to enter the relic hall, you're not going anywhere near this place. Which reminds me - why the slag aren't you at your post?"

"You were bodyguard to the master archivist."

Smokescreen turned sharply to see the massive form of Megatron standing right behind him. He stumbled back in alarm, and within the blink of an optic, he was back in the world of nothingness.

"Clearly you failed your duty," Megatron said, almost conversationally.

Smokescreen didn't have time to be offended or stung by the comment. He turned and continued running. Just focus on running, he thought to himself. Just running. Running through the blackness. Running to escape anymore memories–

Running up to another podium, where that large, key-like thing floated in its display field.

"And what's this one?" he asked eagerly.

"A secret," Alpha Trion replied with a small smile.

Smokescreen pulled back from the podium, not sure whether or not to be laughing, protesting, or disappointed. "Seriously?"

"There are many secrets contained within the Hall," Alpha Trion said calmly, walking along past his bodyguard. "This relic being one of them. Perhaps, someday, I will reveal these secrets to you."

"All right." He trotted after Alpha Trion and slowed to the old bot's pace. "...Maybe we could have, like, a secret revealing schedule of some kind?"

"These secrets must have been revealed to you."

Smokescreen stumbled and fell, back in the world of blackness. "What's happening?" he gasped, clutching his helm.

Heavy pedesteps approached from behind. "I told you, everything you know is mine to uncover, whether you try to run from it or not."

Smokescreen scrambled to his pedes and turned, back-stepping as he–

Spread his servo dramatically towards the next relic. "And this one's..." He paused, glancing at the key-shaped relic. "Actually, I still have no clue what this one is. Yet. Alpha Trion's still all hush-hush about it."

"So, he doesn't trust you with everything."

Smokescreen's doorwings lowered a bit. "No- but I trust him," he added quickly. "I'm sure he has a reason for hidin' some stuff. He'll tell me some time. I mean, Alpha Trion still does trust me."

"I should hope so," his companion said with a small scoff. "You're doing something wrong if he doesn't."

Tour forgotten, Smokescreen finally asked what had been on his processor for awhile. "Why're you here, Prowl?"

"What do you mean–"

"Stop!" Smokescreen practically screamed into the darkness as the memory gave way to it, servos once again clasping the sides of his helm. "Get out of my head!"

A sigh filled Smokescreen's audial receptors. "Your attempts to fight, while still futile, are beginning to annoy me."

Smokescreen shook his helm and resumed his run through the darkness.

"Perhaps I should occupy you with something else."

That didn't sound good, but Smokescreen didn't slow his pace. He kept running–

Only for that rough servo to shove him back again. "Slaggit, kid, I said stay back!"

Smokescreen could still hear that one mech he could never remember the name of, screaming as though his legs had been blown off. Slag, maybe they had! Smokescreen didn't know, and it was freaking him out!

Ever adept at keeping his pedes, the adolescent sparkling kept trotting after the squad of frantic bots. "But isn't there anything I can do t' help–?"

"No, you can't do anything, slaggit!" the last bot in the procession snapped, glaring down at Smokescreen. "Now stay back!"

Another shove, and this time Smokescreen fell back onto his skidplate. Doorwings drooping, the adolescent sparkling watched as the bots disappeared down the hall. His spark was writhing in turbulent emotions, Smokescreen had to remind himself that "soldiers don't cry."

"Smokescreen." That was Prowl.

Fighting back the lubricant building up in his optics, Smokescreen got to his pedes and turned to look–

Out the window, optics wide as he watched one of the buildings at the farthest edge of Iacon collapse in a mass of smoke.

Another movement, much closer this time, caught his optic, and Smokescreen looked down to see one of the officers racing across the courtyard to where their commander was issuing orders to a few of the perimeter guards. The commander stopped as soon as the officer ran up to him. As he listened to the officer's report, the commander's faceplates became weary. He turned away, pinching the area between his optics. The remaining perimeter guards muttered to each other.

Optics still wide, Smokescreen looked back towards the far edge of the city. That building was gone, leaving only a pillar of smoke to distract from the otherwise serene cityscape that was Iacon.

All the turbulent emotions that had been building up in Smokescreen since he had received his assignment that that morning finally came out, and he slammed his servos against either side of the window frame with a yell–

But his voice was instantly lost in the stifling hum of the ship's engines.

This only angered Smokescreen more.

Again he pulled forcefully at his bonds, and again he was punished with a sharp pain in his shoulder joints and no give to the bonds whatsoever. Again he shouted his frustration into the halls, and again his voice was lost in the constant hum of the ship's engines. And then, just like that, Smokescreen deflated. He hung limply in his bonds, energy spent, frustration and anger vented, with only his unvented emotions for company.

What had he done wrong? He had been more than ready to fight the 'Cons when they'd attacked the Hall, and yet he was now their prisoner. And what about Alpha Trion? Primus, the mere thought of the old bot - whom Smokescreen had been ordered to protect - made Smokescreen's doorwings feel like they were curling in on themselves.

He had failed.

He had promised he would fight for the cause, he had been given orders, and he had failed.

Smokescreen's spark sank, and–

He looked at his servos helplessly. "I... I told Optimus I'd return with that key."

He could hear groundbridge popping up nearby, but Smokescreen was a little too lost in his own failure to pay any attention to it. In the midst of his dejection, Smokescreen could feel Bulkhead's heavy arm around his shoulders.

"Look, kid," the big bot said comfortingly. "Alpha Trion said we need all four keys–"

The world seemed to slow down. Alarm bells went off in Smokescreen's processor. Everything was a brief blur of colour and panic, and Smokescreen clasped both servos to his helm.

"No!"

In an instant, his cry was lost in the world of blackness. Except, the world seemed to have gained a little more life - Smokescreen was vaguely aware of many voices echoing around him, of his memories showing up as blurred images out of the corners of his optics, of the enormous form of Megatron perusing them like datapad entries. But he couldn't focus on any of that. Fighting the ache in his processor, Smokescreen stumbled forward.

Just keep running, he thought. If he just kept running...

He could see a door ahead. It looked like the door to the library.

Just keep running.

He quickened his pace, and within seconds, Smokescreen burst through the door, leaving the darkness, his memories, and the enormous warlord picking at them, behind.

He was standing in Prowl's old office. It wasn't the library, but it was enough for Smokescreen. Leaning both servos on the desk in front of him, Smokescreen closed his optics and focused on his venting.

"What was the message?"

Smokescreen opened his optics, doorwings perking up. Bulkhead? He turned, optics full of hope.

"It is paramount that we recover the final four Iacon relics."

And just like that, Smokescreen's doorwings dropped, along with his spark. That was Optimus's voice, coming from the other side of Prowl's office door, but...

"The Omega Keys."

Smokescreen's doorwings fell flat onto his backstruts. "Oh, no."

"Keys?" Arcee echoed questioningly.

"To what?" Ratchet asked.

"No!" Smokescreen burst through the office doors and found himself standing in the brightly lit Autobot base, watching as he and the rest of Team Prime looked up at their leader expectantly.

"To the regeneration of our home planet," Optimus declared.

That was it.

"No..."

Smokescreen felt as though the world had fallen out from underneath him.

"No..."

He stepped back from the scene, as though that would rewind and reset what had just happened.

"Oh, Primus..."

Heavy pedesteps shook the ground behind him. Smokescreen's servos clenched, and he turned on the giant form approaching from the shadows of the base.

"Now what?" Smokescreen snapped, quickly realizing he needed to control his vocalizer as it pitched slightly. "You're done, right? So get out of my head, and leave me alone!"

Still standing in the shadows, Megatron only released a thoughtful hum.

"Ugh, slag this!" Smokescreen punched a nearby wall.

All energy left his chassis, and he leaned quickly leaned against the wall he had just punched, processor a whirl of messy thoughts and spark a hotbed of writhing emotions.

He had failed.

He had tried. By Primus, he had tried. He had run, he had hid, he had tried to stay in the dark.

But he had failed.

What would the team say? What would Optimus say?

The thought sent a stab through Smokescreen's spark. Team Prime–

Gathered around their leader as he responded to Smokescreen's doubts.

"While I am unfamiliar with the lore of these Omega Keys," Optimus admitted. "Alpha Trion knew many secrets, and the Ancients possessed technology that has long been lost to what we consider 'modern science'–

"Whatever their function, this much is certain: we can not restore Cybertron without all four Omega Keys in our possession–

"The future of our home world depends on it."

[magterrific]

Grimm AU

~2k, t, canon fusion

The one where Jim is a Grimm (but doesn’t know it) and Bones is the Koschie he’s rooming with.

Leonard takes one look at his Academy roommate and sighs. "Is this going to be an issue?"

The guy- Jim- just frowns. "Is what going to be an issue."

"This." Leonard gestures between them, indicating the fraught relationship between Grimms and Wesen. Jim just frowns harder, and Leonard sighs. "You're a Grimm. I'm a Koschie. I want to be sure you're not going to cut my head off."

Jim makes a face. "Look, man. I don't know what kind of prank this is supposed to be, but it isn’t funny, okay? It’s just weird."

Leonard frowns, considers the evidence before him. Jim really doesn't seem to know what Leonard's talking about. But that's impossible. There's no way Leonard is mistaking what he sees in Jim's eyes.

Unless... Unless Jim is a Grimm who doesn't know he's a Grimm.

"God damn," Leonard breathes. God damn.

 xx

 "How does he not know what he is?" Leonard asks Pike the next day. It took a lot of throwing his weight around, but he managed to get an appointment with captain and current head recruiter. "More to the point, what made you think an uninitiated Grimm isn't a safety hazard?"

Pike rubs his temples. For a human, he's usually understanding of Wesen issues, but he got this one wrong. Way wrong.

"His father was George Kirk," Pike says slowly, and Leonard feels his jaw drop.

"No way," he says, shaking his head. "No goddamn way. How could he not know about Wesen if he's the son of George Kirk?"

"It was his mother's wish, apparently."

"Yeah, well, his mother's an idiot." Leonard shakes his head. He doesn't want to imagine what growing up as a Grimm without knowing what a Grimm even is would be like. "I'm telling him."

"He won't thank you,” Pike warns.

Leonard shrugs. "Good thing I don't care."

 xx

 Leonard waits for the weekend, then corners Jim in their suite after lunch. He doesn't say anything, doesn't give Jim any warning, just turns around so they're facing each other and lets out his woge.

Jim's eyes go wide, and he swallows hard. He blinks, even gives his head a shake, but Leonard doesn't let his woge end.

Raising a hand, he points to his face. "Like I said- Koschie. You see me, don't you?"

"I don't-"

"Jim." Leonard lets the woge fall away. "I'm not the first Wesen you've met."

"That- I don't know what you're talking about."

Leonard sighs. "You know those stories about things that go bump in the night?" Jim nods. "Well, Wesen are what they're based on, thanks to people like you."

Jim tenses up. "Look, man. I'm not spreading stories about anybody, okay?"

"Your ancestors, Jim," Leonard says, willing Jim to listen. "You're a Grimm. You hunt people like me."

 xx

 Finding out that he isn't hallucinating makes Jim relax immeasurably. Where before he was a toxic mess of tension of resolute isolation, after he finds out he’s a killing machine- but a sane one- he becomes a different man entirely. He's open and friendly and walks with his chin up high. Which is good. Leonard is happy for him.

What isn't so good is the fact that this newfound confidence has also manifested in Jim taking an interest in Leonard. A romantic interest.

It's a goddamn crush, and Leonard is about one divorce too old to be the subject of crushes.

"Shoo," he says when Jim appears in the clinic, a box in his hands.

Jim just gives him an earnest look and opens the top, revealing a series of cardboard boxes. Leonard takes an experimental sniff.

"Tandoori?"

Jim nods quickly, and Leonard is forced to sigh and give into his growling stomach- he had to skip breakfast to get to the clinic on time. Which Jim knew before he went and got take out.

"This isn't a date," Leonard says lowly.

Again, Jim nods. He's smiling brightly as he takes his seat next to Leonard at the table in the break room, though, but Leonard can't find it in himself to make him stop.

 xx

 They're lying on their backs on the floor between their beds, comfortably buzzed, when Jim finally asks.

"Being a Grimm is hereditary, right?"

"Yep."

"And my dad was a big deal?"

"Yep."

"So he would have killed you, huh?"

Leonard thinks about that for a while, really thinks about it. The answer is complicated, but most answers are. The real issue is figuring out how to talk about this without setting off Jim’s issues. "Depends," he says after a while. "At first? Yeah. He would’ve killed me on sight. But later..."

"Later?" Jim prompts when Leonard fails to finish.

Leonard shrugs. "You don't know much about him as a Grimm, do you?"

"I don't know much about him period."

And damn if that doesn't make Leonard's heart hurt. He's done his best to make sure Jo knows all about him. His flaws and his triumphs, they all belong to her, too. His legacy is her inheritance.

Lifting a hand, Leonard lazily drops it over Jim's shoulder and gives it a squeeze. Jim allows the touch, even leans into it.

"Wesen fear Grimms," Leonard continues, voice soft, "but you know that already."

"Because we hunt you," Jim says.

"Because you hunt us," Leonard agrees. "But even among Grimms, the Kirk name is infamous. Your family decimated us." And they did so ruthlessly, beheading and impaling and torching everything in their path. There was a time when just a whisper of them could send Wesen scattering to the wind. The Kirk name was used as a threat even as recently as Leonard's youth- be good, or you'll be thrown to the Kirks. But Jim doesn't need the burden of that knowledge. "Your father was set to carry on that legacy," he continues. "But for some reason, toward what became the end of his life, he stopped. He became an advocate of peace, even going so far as to befriend local Wesen and give them his protection- provided they followed the law."

"Why'd he do that?"

Leonard shrugs. "Couldn't tell you. He never told us why he changed his mind. But if I had to guess, I'd say it was you."

"How the hell could I have changed his mind? I wasn't even born."

"Exactly. Animosity isn't a one-way street, Jim. There are plenty of dangerous Wesen. Your father had enemies. It could be he didn't want you to inherit them."

"But Sam..."

"It's just a theory," Leonard says with a shrug. "It could just as easily be he wanted to retire. I don't know what goes through your damn Grimm heads."

Here, he gives Jim's shoulder a shake.

Jim snorts. "As if Koschie are any better?"

"My kind are far simpler than yours."

"Your kind get off on healing people."

This time it's Leonard who shrugs. "At least we heal first. I can't help what my biology wants afterwards."

Jim hums and lets the conversation drop, but Leonard just knows it isn't gone from Jim's head.

 xx

 "Is Jo a Wesen, too?"

Leonard doesn't look up from his xenobiology textbook. "She is."

"Is she like you?"

"She is."

"And your wife- ex-wife?"

"Joss is also a Koschie."

Out of the corner of his eye, Leonard sees Jim nods to himself. A sense of impending dread pools in Leonard's belly, but he ignores it, forcing his mind instead onto Orion hormones.

 xx

 Two days later, Jim sits down next to Leonard and asks, with no preamble, "What about Wesen and Grimms?"

"What about them?" Leonard asks.

"Do they ever get together?"

"Get together as in date?" Jim nods, and Leonard has to fight the urge to snort. "No, Jim. They don't."

"Why not?"

"You do remember the part where Grimms hunt Wesen, right?"

"Yeah, but some of them must have been good."

Leonard shrugs. "If they were, they didn't make a production of it. Hell, before your father, I'd never heard of a Grimm even tolerating Wesen- at least not before the Verrat came to be."

"What's that?"

"Something you will be happier not knowing about," Leonard says, and for once, Jim picks up on his tone and doesn't push.

 xx

 "We should make history," Jim slurs.

Leonard braces himself. "Make history how?"

"With love," Jim says seriously.

"That's the most absurd thing you've ever said."

"But, Bones-!"

"No buts. You're a Grimm. I'm a Wesen. Even if we were otherwise compatible, which I'm not sure we are, it would be a colossally bad idea."

"But, Bones!"

"And there's the fact that you're shitfaced. Come on. Let's get you into bed."

Jim's eyes light up.

Leonard resists the urge to pick him up and drop his on his ass. "For sleep, you animal."

Jim deflates but obediently crawls under the covers. Leonard tucks him in with a roll of his eyes. Damn man can't even get drunk in their suite without making a scene.

"Hey, Bones?"

"Yeah, Jim?"

"I wouldn't kill you."

"Well that's real comforting."

"I mean it!" Jim says, struggling to sit up.

Leonard pushes on Jim's shoulder, forcing him to lie back. "I know you do," he says softly. "You're a good man, Jim. Even if you are a pain in the ass."

Jim smiles up at him, and Leonard's treacherous heart stutters in his chest.

 xx

 "I don't care about history," Jim says, marching into the bathroom. His eerie Grimm eyes make Leonard's heartbeat pick up as they always do, but it's the crinkles in Jim's forehead that convince Leonard that whatever this is, it's serious.

Even if he's leaning on the sink and dressed in nothing but a towel, razor in hand.

Jim doesn't hesitate, just takes another step into the room and shuts the door behind him. It's still hot from Leonard's shower, the steam slow to dissipate. It gives Jim an almost otherworldly look as he steps into Leonard's space.

"I don't care about how things were. I care about how they are now- how they could be. And I know we'd be good, Bones. We'd be so good."

"There's more to it than that," Leonard says.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kiss you," Jim plows on.

"We're technically different species."

"I've slept with aliens. Try again."

Leonard sighs. "It might make it harder for me to have Jo. Officially, Joss can't say anything about you being a Grimm, but if a certain kind of judge got the case..."

Jim lowers his eyes, and Leonard knows he's won. The victory doesn't make him feel any better, though. He doesn't actually want to say no to Jim. He lost everything in the divorce, but here, at Starfleet, with Jim, he finally got something back.

He doesn't hesitate when he steps forward. He doesn't think about all the ways this could go horribly, terribly wrong. He just thinks about the stiff fabric of the collar of Jim's reds and the soft feeling of Jim's lips against his.

Jim doesn't take long to rally. He kisses back hard and desperate, as if even his ego hadn't predicted that Leonard would bend to him. His hands bury themselves in Leonard's hair, and even though it hurts, there's nowhere Leonard would rather be. There's no one he'd rather be with.

He knows deep in the bones Jim always calls him by that there's nowhere he won't go so long as Jim is there with him.