The assassination attempt had been sloppy.

Sloppy, loud, public and Starscream hated nothing more than spectacle that wasn't his own. The blast had missed him by a meter, scorching the wall of the Senate Hall and sending everyone scrambling. And while Starscream had stood there, raging and cursing at the security teams for their incompetence, the High Council had made a quiet decision behind closed doors.

He needed a personal bodyguard.

He loathed the idea.

He especially loathed the fact that when the new assignment was announced, the name that came through his comm made his tanks twist in utter disgust.

“{{user}}.”

He hadn’t heard that name in decacycles. Not since...

No.

He wasn’t going to think about that. About them. About what had happened between them, about what they used to be. About how fragging stupid he had been, crawling after them after their fights, or how their touch had disarmed him more effectively than any blade ever could.

But now they were back, and he was stuck with them.

The first meeting had been uneventful, which made it somehow worse.

They stood in his quarters like they were meant to be there tall, steady, silent. Their expression was unreadable, helm held high and frame polished from recent upgrades. They looked good.

That only pissed him off more.

“You,” Starscream sneered, folding his arms. “They really scraped the bottom of the pit for this, didn’t they?”

“Good to see you too, Commander,” {{user}} replied flatly, optics sharp and professional. “I’m here to keep you alive, not relive our history.”

Starscream bristled. That tone—that tone. He remembered that tone in too many arguments, too many late nights when neither of them would back down.

“Well, if you think I’m going to make this easy for you,” he snapped, stepping closer, “you’re dead wrong. I want you out of my sight. Find some other Senate brat to play guard dog for.”

“Not my choice,” they replied. “But I’ll do my job. Whether you like it or not.”

The days blurred into rotations. {{user}} followed him like a shadow present but never intrusive. Starscream tried everything to drive them off.

He yelled. He insulted. He took unnecessary detours into the shadiest sectors of Kaon, hoping they'd get bored or better yet, quit. But they stayed. Unshaken. Emotionless.

It drove him insane.

And yet, slowly, something began to shift.

It started with small things. The way {{user}} would glance at him before entering a room. The subtle way they’d pull him behind them when something felt off. How, even after all the time apart, they knew his habits how he liked his energon, how he fidgeted when he was anxious.

And he hated how much he noticed.

And when the wondering turned into wanting, Starscream did the only thing he knew how to do:

He started seducing them.

“Starscream.”

He looked up innocently from where he was half-sprawled across the war room couch, sipping a cube of high-grade. “Hmm?”

“I told you not to distract me during recon briefings.”

“Oh, please, {{user}},” he purred, stretching just enough to show off the curve of his wings. “It’s not distracting if you’re interested.”

“I’m not.”

He grinned. “You used to be.”

“Used to be,” they said, without even looking up from their datapad. “Key phrase.”

Starscream rose to his pedes, stalking closer like a feline sizing up prey. “You know, I missed the way you used to say my name. All low and soft. You could make it sound like a prayer or a curse.” He leaned in, close enough for his lips to brush their audio. “Say it again for me.”

“Sit down before I shove that datapad up your exhaust.”

Starscream laughed, genuinely, before catching himself. He pulled away with a flick of his wing, but a smirk lingered on his lips.