Work Text:
Before Starstrike knew anything of himself, he knew Starfall.
Shy, handsome Starfall. Starfall who always makes sure Starstrike and Starshower are well fuelled before worrying about himself. Starfall who loses himself for hours in old texts, recharging via cable more often than actually resting. Starfall who provides. Starfall who listens. Starfall who is always there.
Starstrike loves him. How could he not? He fell in love the moment he laid eyes on that golden frame, illuminated by his namesake and looking so very peaceful in the moments before he came online. He fell in love with the way Starfall's optics always find him in a crowd, even if they'd lost each other. He fell in love with Starfall's ability to take all of his pain and make it disappear with a glyph of comfort or even just a smile.
All of that devotion for relatively nothing in return.
Between caring for his trine and late nights bent over old manuscripts, the golden mech spends little time on himself. Starstrike often finds him half online at his desk, lost in a world where the Primes still walk amongst their people. A scholar of history, Starfall specialized in the translation of old documents from the Primal vernacular into newer glyph fields.
It's one of these texts that gives Starstrike the idea of courting. Public displays of affection are generally looked down upon, love being seen as something private between two or more Cybertronians. Courting, it seemed, was a silent way to get the point across. A show of care before committing to one another in a more tangible way.
And, well, Starstrike loved Starfall. He loved him enough to fantasize about irrational acts, like holding his servo in public or pressing soft kisses to his derma. So surely simple acts of care and comfort will come easy to him.
It is easy enough, at first. So simple, just bringing him a cube when he's spent too long hunched over his desk. Reminding him to plug in to recharge if he won't pry himself away from his studies. Urging him into a hot shower after a cold night. Sitting and talking with him about their projects. Jour upon jour of wing care, the only touch allowed in traditional courting.
It barely feels like courting, sometimes. It's just everything that Starfall does for him but aimed back. Things Starstrike hadn't truly appreciated until he began doing them. And the things he's begun to notice. Like the barely there smile when he brings Starfall fuel while the mech is engrossed in a translation. Or the way his wings lift just a bit when Starstrike enters the room.
They fall into a comfortable rhythm of mutual courting. Starstrike gives, Starfall reciprocates. It's like a dance, something he's so very fond of. Both keeping just at a wing's length, waiting to see if the other will be the one to break the tension and draw them in. It's patience.
Patience is something that Starstrike often finds himself lacking. So when their servos brush as he's giving Starfall a cube to have during another late night of work, he finds the dam bursting. Starfall's derma part to speak a glyph of thanks, but the sound is quickly cut as Starstrike leans in and presses his own against them. The kiss lingers, Starfall quickly softening and returning it.
When Starstrike pulls back, their faceplates are flushed and their wings are trembling. He sets his free servo against Starfall's cheek, brushing gently at the warm plating with his thumb. Starfall tilts his helm, pressing against the touch. Starstrike feels his spark ready to burst as he admires his trinemate.
"Starfall… Come recharge with me? Work can wait."
White optics narrow for a moment. Starfall glances at his work over Starstrike's servo before bringing the cube to his lips. No, patience is not something Starstrike has a lot of, but he keeps his poor processor occupied with the idea of being that cube of energon, pressed tight against ivory derma as the fuel inside slips past.
Starstrike is sure he'll say no. His wings have stayed deceptively still after they calmed while he was drinking. Maybe he made a mistake.Maybe he misread Starfall's interest. But they kissed. Starfall returned it. Surely he—
The empty cube clinks against Starfall's desk before the golden plated mech stands. He smiles, soft and warm and so very tender, as he takes Starstrike's servos into his own and tugs him towards the berth.
"I would really like that, Starstrike. Let's recharge together."
Starstrike stumbles as he follows, spark hammering in his chest. He didn't think he would get this far. But every step as he follows Starfall to his rarely used berth helps him find more confidence. They fall together in tangle of their frames, laughing as they get comfortable. Starfall perches over Starstrike, the shyness gone from his smile as he gazes down lovingly before leaning in for more soft, tender kisses. Time falls away. The urging to recharge is forgotten. All that exists spirals down into two sparks, straining against their frames to become ever closer.
Euphoria, thy name is love and all the fullness it brings forth.