Title: Firsts: Prowl and Bluestreak
Author: Mirage Shinkiro

Rating: T
Warnings: mech/mech kissing, a.k.a. intimacy between androgynous and nonsexually reproducing but male-"pronoun'd" 'bots.

Disclaimer: Transformers is the property of Hasbro, and although I wish I could make money off the TF franchise so I could be independently wealthy, I am not. Alas, I remain poor and am just borrowing the lovely robots.

Summary: G1. A badly traumatized Bluestreak finds that even though he lost his home and his entire way of life, he can still find love.

A/N, explanation: This is another in a series of one shots about various couples, all of them surrounding a first kiss.

Inspired by Beregond5's "Patient H-18" and its series. The idea of Blue being mute at first from the trauma and being trained by Prowl comes from her stories and is used by permission.

For Shirox.


Firsts: Prowl and Bluestreak

Under Cybertron's permanent night sky, Bluestreak sat on a courtyard bench and stared upwards at the stars, which twinkled red, blue, and yellow. The Autobot base was never quiet, he'd learned, and the cool breeze that washed over his plating carried sounds of music and drunken laughter. Everyone was getting over-energized in celebration of the orn's victory over the 'Cons. The sounds, though, only served to make Bluestreak feel lonely. The Autobots had saved him, yes, but he felt separate and distant from them. Ninety-one orns, he thought. It seems like I've been here forever but I haven't and I hope I can be useful to them but I wish they'd stop nagging me to talk because if I open my mouth even once I think I'll start screaming and won't be able to stop.

The Iaconian base was his home now that Praxus lay in ruins, and Bluestreak had been entered into a training program. Given the injuries he'd had when rescued, he knew he likely should have died. That medic Wrench said-oh, wait, no, that was Ratchet-he said I was lucky to be alive but I don't feel lucky I feel cursed and I hate being alone but I make everyone uncomfortable and they probably think I'm a freak.

Before his thoughts could spiral further downward, Bluestreak found himself distracted by the sound of approaching footsteps. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Prowl, the officer who'd saved him, walking his direction. He smiled in greeting, and Prowl nodded in return.

"I see you're not attending the party." Prowl briefly touched his arm as he sat by him. "I find parties too loud and crowded, but I can't help wondering why you don't attend them."

Because I see nothing to celebrate, Bluestreak thought, but he'd gone so long without speaking it seemed impossible to voice his thoughts. Still, he gave Prowl another small smile, knowing the tactician never showed anyone else such attention, much less touched them.

"I read the report Kup submitted on your training thus far," Prowl said, apparently not bothered by his lack of reply. "It seems you excel at the shooting range. I'm going to recommend that you focus more of your training there."

Bluestreak nodded, wishing he could return Prowl's simple touch. Perhaps because of their shared origins, Prowl had shown keen interest in his recovery and training. Bluestreak saw him at least briefly every orn, and Prowl was always patient and kind. In fact, Bluestreak found himself oddly upset if he didn't get to see Prowl during the orn, and so he coveted times like these and closely watched the mech beside him. Prowl's red chevron, so much like Bluestreak's own, lent him a regal air, and the graceful arc of his doorwings made him strikingly handsome.

"I'm also going to suggest that you begin taking shifts on monitor duty once every four orns," Prowl continued. "It's important for you to begin settling into the rhythm of this base, as well as familiarize yourself with various procedures. Light duty might also do you some good."

Finding his gaze caught in Prowl's, Bluestreak slowly nodded once more, grateful for his care, then tentatively reached out and squeezed Prowl's forearm. Prowl's lips parted slightly, as though he were going to speak again, but he remained silent. For a moment, all Bluestreak could focus on were those lips.

Do I have a crush on Prowl? he wondered, shocked at himself. I can't! That's just wrong he's an officer and I'm a nobody who only finished one semester at the academy before it got-

At the thought of what had happened to his classmates and professors, Bluestreak shuddered and released Prowl's arm. He was getting better at controlling the flashbacks, but at times he still found his processor flooded with memories of charred bodies and burning buildings.

An arm snaked around his shoulders, carefully avoiding his doorwings, and Bluestreak found himself pulled tight against Prowl's side.

"It'll be all right," Prowl whispered, using that soft voice he seemed to reserve just for him. "It won't always be this way."

Bluestreak curled into the embrace, the warmth easing his pain, and dared to hope Prowl was right.


With a silent sigh, Bluestreak trailed through the orangey-gold hallways, heading toward the firing range. He had a free orn, something other mechs cherished, but even after being with the Autobots 180 orns now, he still hated being alone and unoccupied. Bluestreak believed he wasn't showing any signs of improvement, and he wondered why the Autobots hadn't kicked him out yet. Since they hadn't, further training seemed the least he could do, and he felt relieved when the towering double doors came into sight. At least this way I'm doing something productive, he thought, quickening his pace. And my mind won't wander back to my memories.

As the doors hissed open, Bluestreak stepped up to the sign-in desk, picked up a standard issue practice rifle from the mech on duty, and walked to the last stall. The computer simulated holographic targets for him, all of them in the shape of droids, and the practice rifle allowed him to shoot low-powered lasers at them. As the program began, though, Bluestreak frowned. Every orn, the droids became smaller and faster-moving. The program didn't do that for anyone else, and he wondered at times if Prowl had altered it for him. If so, he wasn't quite sure what it meant.

With another sigh, Bluestreak raised the rifle, took aim, and fired. Droids four, six, ten, eleven, and thirteen vanished, and Bluestreak tried not to become irritated by the fact he was hitting the second or third ring on the bull's-eye instead of the first or center. A bit too fast, he thought, tracking the flying droids. It's like hunting turbohawks I guess and I always loved doing that and I realize these are just holographic droids but I still can't shake the fact that when I'm out in the field they'll be other mechs and if I shoot like this I'll be piercing their chestplates and if I shoot well enough it'll be their sparks instead. He began to tremble and lowered his rifle.

"Take your time," came a quiet voice.

Bluestreak jumped faintly, startled. He supposed that by now he should have been used to the mech's silent approaches; after all, he was named 'Prowl.' Besides, just knowing that Prowl had apparently come to check on him made him feel calmer.

"It's not a test," Prowl murmured, stepping up behind him, grasping his left elbow with his left hand, and pushing upward. He laid his right hand on his right forearm. It was the stance Prowl normally invoked during his training, correcting his posture slightly. "No one else is even here to see your performance. Relax. Let your targeting computer track the droids."

Bluestreak leaned back into the warm chest behind him, the edges of his doorwings scraping Prowl's arms, and focused on his presence. Prowl was only slightly larger than he was physically, but his personality seemed to fill up a room with the sheer essence of command and control. It made him feel safe, warm, and cared for. It also made him uncomfortably aware of how handsome Prowl was, something that was getting harder and harder for him to ignore.

Following the instructions, he transferred more attention to the targeting computer, letting it run the calculations instead of his main processor. That accomplished, he focused his processor on determining when to fire. He took his time, not rushing the exercise, then fired rapidly, taking out all thirteen of the remaining targets, eleven of them dead center.

"Excellent," Prowl whispered. "You're beginning to break the training records set at this base. I'm going to recommend that you're specialized as a sniper."

Bluestreak lowered his rifle in surprise and turned carefully, making sure not to hit Prowl with his doorwings. He didn't even try to hide his surprise. Am I really that good? he thought, baffled. But I only hit the center a little over ninety percent of the time!

Giving him a faint smile, Prowl reached up and traced his fingertips down his cheek. "I wonder what you're thinking sometimes."

Leaning into the touch, Bluestreak opened his mouth, finding he wanted to speak, to tell Prowl he was developing a crush on him. He wanted to tell him to keep touching him. There was so much he needed to say: a thank you for saving him, a thank you for looking after him, a thank you for taking personal interest in his training. But the words seemed trapped.

Prowl reached up with his other hand, capturing Bluestreak's face and tracing his cheek seams with his thumbs. "Our TIC keeps telling me to quit putting my life on hold. To take something for myself, do something that makes me happy. When I look at the ruins of our home city, I think Jazz is either extremely wrong or extremely right."

The practice rifle fell from Bluestreak's fingers and clattered to the steel floor. Desperate to show his feelings, he grabbed Prowl's wrists with both hands and squeezed, holding Prowl's hands in place.

"I'm going to kiss you," Prowl told him quietly. "If you don't want me to, pull away."

An electric zap raced through Bluestreak's circuits, and he didn't move except to raise his face for easier access. He'd never been kissed before, but he knew enough to do that.

Prowl nodded once and leaned in, brushing his lips across Bluestreak's and then pausing briefly. When Bluestreak tugged on his arms, Prowl pressed their lips together, and Bluestreak was shocked by how warm and soft they were. Prowl nibbled at his lower lip, making him gasp softly, and flicked the tip of his glossa between his lips.

Bluestreak opened his mouth, letting Prowl's glossa in, and moaned, his vocal processor springing to life. Prowl dropped one arm to his waist, encircling it and drawing him closer, and Bluestreak ran one hand behind Prowl's neck. After adjusting to the glossa teasing his mouth, Bluestreak responded in kind, dipping his glossa into Prowl's mouth and earning a faint moan in return. Then, too curious to stop himself, Bluestreak dropped his hand to Prowl's right doorwing, running his palm down the smooth panel and wondering if it felt as good as everyone had always claimed.

Prowl gasped, breaking the kiss. "Careful." He managed to smile. "I want to woo you, not simply 'face with you."

Stunned, Bluestreak stared at him. Woo me? He wants to date me? Is it really possible?

Prowl lowered the hand that had been cupping Bluestreak's cheek and ran his fingertips across his left doorwing, setting off several sensory nodes in the process. Tingles raced through the delicate appendages, sending small surges through Bluestreak's neural net and making his systems surge with heat. With a moan, he arched into the touch.

"See?" Prowl whispered into his audio, then kissed it lightly.

Bluestreak shivered, feeling as though his spark had opened and built-up energy was gushing forth. Before he realized what he was doing, he was speaking and couldn't stop. "Ah, yes I do see and I never imagined a small touch could be so powerful but you're right: I'd much prefer to have a relationship with you not some quick, meaningless 'facing where we just take pleasure from each other and move on because you're worth more than that in my mind and if you're truly interested in me then I'd like to do this right."

Hesitating a moment in apparent surprise, Prowl laughed quietly. "So you found your voice. If I'd known all it took was a touch to your doorwing, I would have done it sooner." He pressed a kiss against the tip of Bluestreak's nose. "And I am indeed interested. I've become quite invested in you, actually, and my feelings have crossed the line from professional to personal."

"I'm not sure my feelings for you were ever of a 'professional' nature and I'm sorry I couldn't bring myself to talk but I'll do my best to be open about my thoughts from now on." Bluestreak paused, realizing that all his words were coming out in a rush, nearly run-together or jumbled, and looked away, embarrassed.

"You do that." Prowl pulled him into an embrace and rubbed his back with one hand. "I don't want you to hold it all in anymore."

Bluestreak nodded and laid his head on his shoulder. All his repressed words threatened to bubble up all at once. "I hope it doesn't get annoying."

Prowl laughed. "I put up with Jazz's antics every orn, and I have for the past twelve vorns. Add the twins' pranks to that, and I count myself utterly immune."

Relaxing in Prowl's embrace, Bluestreak laughed as well, relieved to know someone could accept him just as he was.

Postscript: Thank you to Beregond 5 and pl 2363 for beta reading! And thanks to everyone who has been reviewing and/or faving my other "Firsts" stories. Here's the list thus far:

"Firsts: Prowl and Sideswipe"-posted
"Firsts: Wheeljack and Ratchet"-posted
"Firsts: Prowl and Jazz"-posted
"Firsts: Hot Rod and Sunstreaker"-posted
"Firsts: Mirage and Jazz"-posted
"Firsts: Optimus and Elita"-posted
"Firsts: Skyfire and Perceptor"-posted
"Firsts: Thundercracker and Skywarp"-posted
"Firsts: Ratchet and Sideswipe"-posted
"Firsts: Scavenger and Fireflight"-posted (yeah, you read that right)
"Firsts: Drift and Perceptor"-posted
"Firsts: Prowl and Bluestreak"-here
"Firsts: Starscream and Megatron"-forthcoming
"Firsts: Red Alert and Inferno"-forthcoming