Chapter Text
“Thank you for being my friend, Bumblebee.”
“Friend.”
The word lingered in the back of his processor like an itch he could never scratch, even if he wanted to.
Friend.
Was that really what Cheetor had thought of him as this whole time?
My friend.
His friend. His.
He lay on the cold berth, optics fixated on the rusty ceiling fan. The whirring noise it made filled the ambiance of the room.
The war is over. It’s been over for a couple solar cycles now. With Cybertron restored to its former glory, with Optimus now fully in charge of governing the reformed planet, with every new arrival of ships from either faction, things couldn’t get any better, right?
He exhales a shaky ex-vent.
Does any mech he walks past even know, even wonder, who has advocated for new life to reappear on Cybertron?
Their first thought would be Optimus.
It has always been.
And it always will be.
They don’t know.
This planet. The one he and the Autobots spent millennia trying to revive. The one he’d promised Cheetor he’d show everything there is to offer on it. Cheetor was the last straw and this planet drew him out of his servo.
Cheetor.
Oh, Cheetor.
Coolant started to well up at the edges of his optics just at the thought of him. He was so mad at himself. Why did he let him go? How stupid could he have been?
Their time was brief. Too brief. It’d make sense for Cheetor to only label him as a friend– a CLOSE friend, he hopes, after having spent only a few stellar cycles together. Bee was happy. Hot Rod was happy too. He couldn’t understand how Hot Rod had managed to move on from it so fast. Maybe it’s just his newfound duties demanding his utmost attention, leaving the mech with no time to think about casualties long lost.
His death didn’t feel like it was stellar cycles ago.
When the Quintessons took control of Cybertron and hooked everyone up to that stupid simulation, he lost track of time. Everyone did.
Time he was supposed to spend mourning.
Now that he really thought about it–
He never did have time to mourn, did he?
He still remembers the way Cheetor stopped his reaching servo that day. His servo. It chased after Cheetor, searching for purchase on any part of the mech’s frame in a desperate attempt to stop him. To keep his promise.
The way his claws slightly chipped his signature yellow paint when he held his arm. The way he’d always leave dents in his plating whenever he touched him. How his sharp, green optics held coolant from dripping down his faceplate, while Bumblebee’s own had failed to restrain any.
Bumblebee lifted his arm, turning it slowly to see the underside of his gauntlet.
The claw marks left there were evident, the flaking paint, the small, barely noticeable spots in his armor which were sunken, with glints of pure, silver metal peering out from the center.
“Thank you for being my friend, Bumblebee.”
No matter how hard he tries to forget, it's still there.
Friend.
Maybe Cheetor’s duties and isolation from other Cybertronians gave him a lack of terms to describe their relationship.
Or maybe he didn’t feel the same way Bumblebee did.
He’d spent so long hoping it was the former.
Perhaps he wasn’t good enough for him? Too reckless–, too talkative–, too annoying–?
His servos grabbed at his faceplates in frustration. Gritting his dentae, the coolant began to stain the mesh pillow below him.
Whatever they had, Bumblebee was sure it was ANYTHING but casual.
They've shown affection for each other on multiple instances.
They shared a berth more times than he could count.
They had kissed.
Many times.
Many, many times.
He remembers the first one they’d shared. Under the stars, all those stellar cycles ago.
Bee offlined his optics, the last of the coolant being forced out.
–
Bumblebee wandered around the halls of the Ark, calling out to Cheetor. The mech was nowhere to be found, and in the process, he’d stirred a few of his fellow crewmates, who were recharging, at least until his yelling woke them up. He was thinking that they and Hot Rod could have a race later on when everyone’s shifts were done. Just for fun. He likes spending time with Cheetor. Whenever he was free he’d be spinning all around the other mech, telling him everything that’s happened that solar cycle.
He couldn’t wait to tell him about what he saw on patrol today. Earth life was so fascinating.
But Cheetor still hasn’t shown up.
Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Cheetor for practically the entire day. Cheetor had felt comfortable sharing his thoughts to Bee and Hot Rod about how overwhelmed his senses were because of the new environment he’s found himself in. It’s most likely natural he needs some time to get away from it all every now and then.
Bee insisted that he go on night patrol to Optimus later on, when, really, he just wanted an excuse to look for the spotted mech. Even if the Prime has kept a tight schedule and has carefully assigned who does what, when, and where, to avoid Decepticon detection, the scout stubbornly persists. In the end, the semitruck decides to give up and let him have his way, seeing there’s no point in arguing with his hard-headed scout.
He stood at the Ark’s main entryway, stretching his aching seams from a previous mission and transformed into his alt mode, making a break for the borders of the forest the Ark had made itself comfortable in.
The mech always intrigued him. The striking green color of his optics, his weird, animalistic nose, the golden claws adorning his servos, the spots which coated his strange plating– soft, yellow fur placed on a hard metal frame. His fangs, and the way they’d always stick out of his dermas when he smiled–
Not that it was hard to admit, Bumblebee does find him adorable. He has for about a few weeks now, ever since the day he went scouting with Cheetor and got his sorry aft saved by the mech. It was just– the way things are looking now, the fact they’re in the middle of a million-year interplanetary conflict, it’s not exactly the best idea. Bumblebee was aware of this.
He reached the foot of the formation and started making his way up, tripping over a few loose rocks and sending them tumbling down the larger boulders. Before he reached the top, he stopped to peer at the mech who stood just a few meters ahead, holding his helm above a clump of pebbles. He fumbled the rocks sticking out the cliff edge and hauled himself upwards, landing on the hard surface with a grunt.
Cheetor’s audials perked up. The ears of the cheetah head fixed to his chest twitched in Bumblebee’s direction.
“Bumblebee?”, he called, turning his head to look past his neck guard.
The scout dusted bits of leftover debris off his armor and walked to stand beside Cheetor.
“Uh– Yeah, it’s me. What’re you doing out here, Cheets? I haven’t seen you all day, mech.”
Cheetor chuckled lightly at the nickname. It was given to him out of the blue during their raid of the Nemesis.
“Stargazing.”, he answered.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all, Bumblebee.”
Cheetor leaned back against the rough slope with his claws resting above his chassis. Bee followed to lay beside him, arms crossed behind his helm.
“You do this often?”, Bee asked, tilting his helm sideways.
“Yeah.”
“Are the stars hiding from us, or is it just really hard to find any on Earth?”
“I think it’s just hard to find stars here. I don’t know why. It’s been like this for the past few decades now.”
“Huh. Okay.”
…
The silence between the two mechs was deafeningly loud. Cheetor seemed to pay no mind to it. He looked too busy searching the night sky for any new stars or constellations.
Which turns out to be a lie.
…
Cheetor’s processor was preoccupied with reanalyzing every moment he’d shared with Bumblebee up until now. Why was the scout so keen on following him all the way here? Why did he go looking for him? Bumblebee had, without knowing it, he guesses, shown every single sign he was interested in Cheetor, despite constantly reassuring himself he was doing a good job at hiding it.
Cheetor knew he was interested.
He just doesn’t know in what way.
…
Bumblebee started running out of questions to ask Cheetor so he could fill the awkward silence. His field began to fill with impatience.
Scratch that, he’s completely run out.
He must’ve gotten used to this by now.
25 million years alone with nothing but the AllSpark as company?
The scout couldn’t think of a better way to psychologically torture someone.
Suddenly, Cheetor sat up, forcing Bumblebee back to his surroundings.
“Bee, look.”, he gasped, optics trailing towards a constellation, just barely visible against the dark sky.
And then more started to show themselves, the two quickly realizing part of the reason there weren’t much stars tonight were large clouds obstructing their view.
Even after the clouds cleared, there were only so few you could make out.
A gruff sigh escaped Cheetor’s dermas as he leaned back down. He fiddles with his claws before his processor snapped to attention at something. And out of curiosity, he turns his helm, facing the mech laying beside him.
“Bumblebee?”
“-yeah?”, Bee snaps his helm in Cheetor’s direction.
The hesitation in Cheetor’s voice was apparent, opening his mouth and closing it back again before asking:
“Why did you follow me here– sorry, I mean, why were you– looking for me?”, he quietly says, his gaze fixated on Bumblebee.
The question took Bumblebee by surprise. He pursed his lips in delay, optics darting to look at Cheetor’s helm crest–, the rocks between them– just anywhere but the other’s eyes. He was slightly startled by the sound of his fans kicking up, lowering his vent flaps and shrinking his field in tight with hopes of hiding the fact he was absolutely embarrassed right now.
All his efforts were to no avail, unfortunately for the scout. Maybe because his faceplates were turning a suspicious shade of bright blue that was getting hard to ignore, unless you were completely zoned out.
Cheetor squinted his optics at the scout, the tear marks lining them shifting along with his faceplates. He raised an optical ridge in confusion.
Finding himself struggling to think of a reason, let alone form a coherent sentence, Bee croaked out a pathetic excuse.
“I– uh.. I just wanted to stargaze, y’know? Feels like it’s been forever since I last did.”
Cheetor shakes his helm with a lighthearted snicker plastered on his snout, fangs bared.
“Bee, are you sure you’re able to focus on the sky for that long–?”, he inquired, emphasizing the last two words he spoke.
“Oh, Cheetor- How could you be so cruel? Insulting your dear friend like this–! You wound me–!”, he replied, exaggerating his tone. Bumblebee flops dramatically, putting his servo palm-up to his forehead crest, feigning defeat.
Cheetor burst out laughing with his shoulders shaking violently, failing to keep his pedes from kicking. His tail lashed wildly before he wiped coolant off the edges of his optics with a swift motion of his claws. Bumblebee could feel the amusement radiating from the other's field.
The scout felt great, making Cheetor laugh like this. He’s rarely had a fit like this, Bee assumes it’s because he’s spent most of his functioning alone. He doesn’t understand why a laugh that sweet would be hidden from the rest of his own kind. Bumblebee’s glad he could hear it for sure.
“Primus, Bee–”, he chuckles afterwards. “I know that’s not why you’re here, silly.”, he continued, his smile still evident.
Bee is left conflicted on whether he should just tell Cheetor or play it off.
Cheetor sighs lightly. “Come on, it can’t be anything bad, right? Did you need me for something?”, he inches closer to Bumblebee mid-sentence.
He hesitates. He’s contemplating it. Bee swallows, rearranging his thoughts. It’s not that hard to tell him you enjoy being around him. A lot–
–compared to everybody else on the ship. He smacks himself mentally at the realization.
Cheetor takes note of how that tinge of blue slowly, but surely, began to reappear on Bumblebee’s faceplates. This time, however, its hue was a little more subtle.
Bee clicks his glossa. Once. Twice. His tanks churned, even though it wasn’t the first confession he’s ever planned on doing, whether he actually has the guts to tell him or not.
“I don’t know–”, he trails off.
…
“–maybe I just really like spending time with you.”, he crooned fondly, his optics finally drifting to meet Cheetor’s.
“and you.”, he thought to himself.
They held their gaze for a few nanokliks, while Bee inched just a little closer to Cheetor.
Cheetor could quite literally feel the affection in his tone, he didn't even need to be in the presence of the other's field, it was so obvious, so lovingly said–
…
Wait.
Bumblebee LIKED HIM?????
That’s when it hit him. Hard.
He was so oblivious to every single hint the scout threw his way, he couldn’t believe himself. Bumblebee’s actions were landmines and Cheetor had SOMEHOW waltzed his way through a minefield UNTOUCHED.
“You–”
“You do–??”
Bumblebee shrugged his pauldrons with a small smirk on his faceplates. “Guess so.”
“Safe to say I could return your feelings.”, Cheetor sighed and rolled his optics, grinning. His fang stuck out of the side of his dermas.
The scout was taken aback. His optics widened at the remark.
“You sure about that–?”, Bee returned in the same tone Cheetor had spoken to him in when he questioned if Bumblebee could really focus on any stars at all.
Cheetor snickers again. “Are you?”
Bumblebee’s optics glanced at the sky for a moment, then back to the mech in front of him. His smirk only grew wider.
“Guess we’ll have to find out.”
Cheetor raised an optic ridge and before he could blurt anything, a servo was quickly hooked behind his helm, pulling him downward, and closer–
–closer to Bumblebee’s faceplate. Their chassis pressed against each other, the glass pane of his alt mode brushing the fur Cheetor sported.
They hesitate when their faceplates are nothing but a breath away from each other, only for the distance between them to be closed when a claw gently guides Bee’s chin so the scout’s dermas could meet his own. Bee pressed back into Cheetor in return with a servo cupping the side of his helm to steady himself.
They stayed that way for a nanoklik or two. As Bee pulled away, Cheetor’s fangs managed to nick his lips, the spotted mech quickly apologizing once he’d felt something tender beneath them.
“Primus– I’m so sorry– Did I hurt you?”, Cheetor stammered, worriedly tilting the other’s chin and wiping bee’s dermas.
The more feral side of him would tell Cheetor that he, in fact, liked that. But Bee shook that thought off and told the other that he was alright.
“What am I going to report back to Optimus now?”, Bee asks, resuming his dramatics, this time falling over to lean on Cheetor’s shoulder plating, giggling to himself. Cheetor chuffs, purring loudly the second Bumblebee’s plating grazes his.
Bee tilts his frame sideways, putting his weight on the other mech as his servo reaches out to grab Cheetor’s.
His optics cycled before their digits could intertwine.
Strong gusts of wind swept across the gaps in his plating, and he suddenly found himself on Cybertron.
In the Well of All Sparks.
“Cheetor– Please.”
His claws grab onto Bumblebee’s gauntlets, their sharp edges denting his plating.
“It’s time for me to fulfill my duty as guardian of the AllSpark–”
His optics widen.
“Cheetor, Don’t do this– Please, Cheetor–”, his vocalizer crackled with static as Bee’s pained wail hadn’t convinced the spotted mech to reconsider what he was doing.
“Thank you for being my friend, Bumblebee.”
He chased after him desperately, servos wavering.
“NonononoNO NO–! CHEETOR, STOP–!” he cried out. His vocalizer was straining itself from screaming, it hurt– the words he spoke were barely understandable due to the static.
…
“CHEETOR–!”, Bumblebee shot up from his berth.
His servo, held out in front of him, reaching–
–for someone who hasn’t been there for quite a while now.
He let out another shaky ex-vent.
He groans, pulling his knees closer to his chassis while he cradled himself, his frame rocking the berth slowly.
He wrapped his arms around his leg plating and started banging his head against them.
Stupid.
He was so, so stupid.