Settlement - Chapter 9

[heliopauseentertainments]

Continuity: IDW1

Rating: Teen

Relationship: Starscream/Prowl, past Megatron/Starscream

Characters: Prowl, Starscream

Warnings: No major warnings apply. Please see AO3 entry for full applicable tag

AU: Canon Divergence, Arranged Marriage

Summary: In which, as part of a peace treaty, Prowl and Starscream are caught in a very, very unwanted arranged marriage.

Crossposting: Tumblr (first chapter only) | AO3 (ongoing) | DW (first chapter)

Chapter under cut. Please see AO3 for further chapters and the most up-to-date versions. Crossposting to DW takes longer.

Inspired by a series of cracky drabbles on Tumblr.

 

No sooner had Prowl oddly lovingly been propped up on the luxuriously squishy sofa in Starscream’s apartment, a quilted tarpaulin tossed over his lap, than the front door was slammed shut. It had been a little conspicuous that Starscream had left it open in the first place, but Prowl quickly realized it had been a strategic decision.

“Alright, Prowl,” Starscream snapped, all the faux care and concern evaporating like spilled acetone. Yanking off his opulent accessories from the medical center, he pointed at Prowl’s chest. “I’ve had enough of your ‘investigation.’ Now your shenanigans are starting to make me look bad.”

“You had a minibot punch me off a building!”

“Because you were peeping!” Starscream waved his hands, silks and jewelry along with them, as though the obvious solution to Prowl doing reconnaissance of a suspicious location was wanton violence for a fee. That Tailgate could really pack a punch. On any other day, he would have been impressed.

Prowl huffed. He grabbed the edge of the tarpaulin across his lap to pull it off, only for Butch to hop up on the couch and flop across his lap, pinning both the tarpaulin and Prowl’s arm. The warm weight of the mechanimal kept him squished into the depths of the soft couch cushions, making it all the more difficult for him to get up.

So much for that.

Whatever Starscream’s plan, it seemed these turbofoxes were in on it. They’d probably been bribed with extra ear scratches or treats or whatever else an animal might find to be of value.

“If you’re going to be making a scene trying to get in here like a nosy busybody, unlike myself,” Starscream continued, grinning despite his fictitious description of himself, “I might as well just let you in.”

Wait.

“Just like that?” Hadn’t Starscream purposefully kicked him out?

“Well, I’d rather you weren’t here because I would prefer to live alone, but if you’re going to be a walking spectacle and make it look like we’re not supporting the treaty, well….” Starscream trailed off for a moment before flashing Prowl a cold smirk. “Let’s just say I prefer your presence to the alternative.”

Prowl squinted at the sneering seeker, unknowingly putting his free hand on Butch’s back.

“The ‘alternative’?” Likely story, he thought, petting the turbofox’s smooth plating. “And what exactly would that be?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” With a shrug and easy flap of his attractive—no, expressive—wings, Starscream walked off to another room, leaving Prowl in Butch’s attentive care.

Prowl couldn’t see beyond the open doorway Starscream had just passed through, but the gurgling sound of a percolating fuel warmer clicking on told him it was the fuel refinery and pantry. His old apartment had a cabinet with a shelf for that, not a whole room.

Well, for the price Prowl was paying for this place, it had better have a dedicated refinery room.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Starscream called from the other room. “There’s a spare berthroom you’ll be using. I don’t do cops. I have standards.”

Wow. While Prowl wasn’t in the least bit surprised, he still somehow managed to be offended.

“But I suppose you ‘do’ genocidal maniacs?”

An unfamiliar feeling chilled Prowl’s spark when the fuel warmer was prematurely turned off, the sounds of an impending comforting beverage silenced.

That was petty, he thought. It was a low blow. It should have been beneath Prowl’s dignity to do that. That wasn’t the point of his investigation. The point was to find out Megatron’s scheme and put a stop to it, not shame Starscream for his past intimate choices. It wasn’t like Prowl even wanted in on any of that, at least not with him, no matter how those broad white wings bounced and bobbed. There was no need for this. With what he was trying to investigate, this type of needling wouldn’t get him anywhere helpful.

Apparently that new feeling was regret.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Prowl couldn’t recall Starscream’s voice ever sounding so… small.

That, however, did answer one of Prowl’s questions. He now knew where Starscream had been staying in Kaon: whatever trashcan Megatron lived in.

A blue hand shot into view, grabbed the door, and slid it shut with a slam. The track rattled against the walls. Butch startled, standing up like he was about to leap off Prowl’s lap. Absently, Prowl shushed the mechanimal, patting him gently to calm him back down, even as cabinets in the refinery were yanked open and slapped shut, items tossed on the counter with unnecessary levels of force. The fuel warmer began percolating again. That was an awful lot of racket for making stimulant-laced fuel.

“It’s fine—“ He stopped himself the moment he realized he was talking to an animal that would have no idea what he was talking about. For a second, Prowl began to worry that he’d nearly gotten comfortable, comfortable in Starscream’s apartment, comfortable surrounded by an entire pack of turbofoxes laying on the furniture, in little beds with names engraved on stylish placards, and generally just lazing about.

There was a room here with a bed, just for him, no rickety cot. He wouldn’t even have to share. The room would be insulated. He would have warm, warm tarpaulins. No ventilation opening blowing right into his face. No desk nearby to accidentally hit his doors on while rolling over.

Then again, Prowl was still footing the bill for the rent. He might as well enjoy it… just a little bit. Even if it came with the risk of Starscream stabbing him in the middle of the night.

After another few minutes, the door to the refinery slid open again, though far less violently than it had been closed. Out sauntered Starscream, a pouting frown fixed on his face and accessories forgotten somewhere, with a steaming mug of something in each hand. Ideally fuel, but maybe poison, who knew. Maybe both.

The seeker approached and held out a mug to Prowl.

“Don’t make me regret not putting something fatally unpleasant in it.” The pout disappeared into a smirk as Prowl cautiously took the mug with the hand that wasn’t occupied with Butch. “I’ll give you the Officer’s Special Brew another time.”

Prowl squinted at him, watching as Starscream—definitely not looking at his wings—made himself comfortable in a nearby armchair. Starscream patted one knee and called, in his usual screech, for Bruticus, who came bounding from nowhere to his master.

It was… sweet. And disturbing.

Starscream was a killer, a schemer, a manipulative bastard, and a Decepticon.

Seeing him be… normal did not compute. It threw confusing variables into his statistical models and baffled his risk assessments. Nothing made sense.

Prowl glanced down at the warm mug in his hands, his own doors cautiously angling low. It had the same emblem on it as the Cube team swag he’d seen, presumably Starscream’s favorite team. Lifting the mug, he gave it a cautious sniff.

High risk.

Dismissing the warning pop-up, he took a swig, relishing as the warm fuel flowed down into his tank. It tasted sweet in his mouth, like care had been taken to put pleasant additives in along with the stimulants.

“… I have some questions for you, about a photograph I found.” Butch stirred on his lap, an amusing contrast to Bruticus who was still trying to get settled on Starscream’s knees. “But they can wait till after coffee.”