Because Jetfire's a brat and Starscream's a bigger brat.

Disclaimer: Well, HASBRO owns everything but the ficlet. Somehow, I don't think they want it. Smush/drabble warning!


Jetfire watched the look on Starscream's face change with the glacial speed of a collapsing iceberg.

Then he ducked.

Congratulating himself on this as he heard a piece of probably-quite-valuable-really equipment hit the wall behind him, the white shuttle was not, unfortunately, quick enough on the draw to see the next second heading his way. This time, it came in the form of a hand moving to wrap around his neck.


Watching Jetfire gasp as he was slammed against the wall abated Starscream's temper somewhat, though hardly enough to be helpful. One of the problems with exacting revenge upon the Autobot, he mused, was that there weren't very many things to grab hold of on him. Delivering a well-earned clobbering was difficult when holding your target in place proved to be nigh impossible.

"What", he growled, bringing their optics into seething proximity, "was that for?"

The fact that his nose was decorated with little pieces of brightly coloured paper did not, sadly, aide the grave seriousness of the moment.

Jetfire felt the giggle well up in the inner workings of his vocalizer, and fought it back. Alas, not quite hard enough, as the next moment he heard a horrible little snigger, and watched as Starscream's expression slipped from fury to hot-blooded murder.

"You look pretty", he said, and knew that all hope was lost.

And somehow, listening to the low growl from his recently-acquired wingmate, it was all worth it. Yes, convincing Swindle to provide him with half a ton of confetti had been difficult. True, laying his hands on a bucket of Red Alert's special turbo-glue had been tricky. Undoubtedly, arranging both above his office door in such a manner as to fall in perfect synchrony when said door opened had been an arduous task, and yet somehow, it was all worth it. The sight of Starscream's glitter-strewn glare with confetti'd wings in the background was worth it.

Now, all that remained, mused his inner mainframe, whilst the rest of him stared fondly at the seeker, was figuring out a way to get out of this situation alive.

"If I said sorry right now, would that help?"

Starscream was unable to see the grin on Jetfire's face, yet he knew in his spark that it was there. The way temporary stress overload caused Jetfire's vocals to jump into strained higher register caused his fingers to relax slightly, unconsciously. Not nearly enough to remove the threat of imminent deactivation, of course. The stink of high-powered glue rose from his wings and, looking at the light in his attractive partner's optics, Starscream vowed to himself that he was not amused. However brilliant the prank may have been, the compound would clog his mechanisms horribly and the sheer fact that he had so blindly walked into it was humiliating beyond reason. No, he thought, not amused at all.

I'm going to kill him. I'm going to kill him.

Now if only he could decide how…

As he contemplated how best to end the shuttle's life, Starscream didn't quite notice Jetfire's knee move until it was too late. The next second there was pain, surprised pain, blooming in the side of his canopy. Yelping, he allowed his hands to slacken around Jetfire's throat, a move that would have earned any competent Decepticon cadet a stern berating.

White hands moved, blurred, snapped around his wrists and wrenched.

Jetfire's camouflaged strength caught him momentarily by surprise, and the seeker found himself spun around and shoved back harshly, as the shuttle hastily darted free from his clutches.

Curse you, Autobot…

Turning a terrible gaze upon the sun-white smirking apparition that was his tormentor, now standing the middle of the room, Starscream privately cancelled his plans to brush up on his aim in the shooting range that day. Then he pounced.

The final thing either flyer was aware of before the room descended into anarchy was the scorching smirk on their rival's face.


Twenty minutes later, two freshly dented mechs lay sprawled upon the floor of the Autobot Second-In-Command's office. Neither one was in particularly good condition, but any impartial observer would have immediately decided that the office looked far worse than they did.

"Can I say sorry now?"

"Shut up."


"Shut up."

Starscream wriggled across the floor to lie by Jetfire's side, getting what revenge he could by smudging the thick, foul-smelling glue across the other's torso. Leaning his head against the seeker's wingtip, Jetfire could have cared less.