“Aren’t you afraid?”
Jazz grinned at him, tilting his chin back, going so far as to offer his intake. “Nah, m’mech. I figure, you bein’ you, ya must know how to handle that thing properly.”
Starscream’s optics narrowed. He aimed the knife at Jazz’s knee, at the delicate joints visible in the wider seams, which attributed to Jazz’s enviable flexibility.
“That I do.” Starscream traced the sharp tip against the edge of Jazz’s armor, the soft whisper of metal interacting barely audible over the whirring of Jazz’s ventilations. “But I am a Decepticon.”
“Pfft.” Jazz’s visor brightened, his thighs pushing further open, as though baring himself on purpose. “Those’re just labels. Sides, you ain’t gonna miss a chance to show off, are ya?”
Mmm. He had a point.
Starscream curled his free hand around Jazz’s left knee and dragged the tip of his knife further upward, raising curls of paint in his wake. “Then you trust me?”
“Bout as far as I can throw ya.” Jazz’s visor burned more intensely. His glossa swept over his lips, his engine revving. “But no one’s as good at what ya do as you.”
Starscream’s wings fluttered with pride. “Very, very true.”
He flicked his wrist and the knife bit deep, a sharp sting that caused energon to well up from beneath Jazz’s armor. It dribbled free, leaving streaks on Jazz’s plating. It was a mesh wound, something his self-repair would seal soon enough.
But Jazz’s ventilations hitched. His armor rippled. His field opened, inviting Starscream inside.
“And you make for an enticing playmate,” Starscream said, licking his own lips in anticipation. “Very well, I promise not to hurt you.” He flicked his wrist, drawing free another dribble of energon, though this time from a different line. “No further than you want, of course.”
Jazz’s engine positively roared. “Sounds good to me.”