For all that he’s accused of his own special brand of unreason, Starscream does, most of the time, try to be somewhat reasonable. He knows full well he’s prone to what Megatron used to call “hysterics” and often falls into what Thundercracker and Skywarp called “his moods.” He is somewhat self-aware. After all, his little idiosyncrasies have caused him plenty of anguish over his long, tumultuous life.
Primus, maybe he should have heeded Windblade’s warnings about the strength of this engex. He’s usually not quite this solipsistic after only a glass and a half.
Anyways. The point is, Starscream is capable of both reason and self-awareness, and right now, he’s making good use of both of these faculties and firmly, resolutely not messaging Wheeljack. He’s also not calling Wheeljack, seeking him out, or inviting him over. He’d very much like to, of course, but when he’s feeling this particular flavor of melancholy, he can get a little… clingy. A little overbearing. He wants attention and will go to impressive lengths to secure it for himself.
It’s something about the day of the week and the time of night, late on a Friday, the kind of night that reminds him exactly how alone he is. He’s sitting by himself in his ridiculously lavish penthouse apartment and he cannot escape the crushing, creeping sense that he is alone because he is unwanted.
It’s true, of course. Starscream is deeply, profoundly unwanted by all who have the displeasure of knowing him personally, and the people only want him in the sense that he was the least evil of those they’d been presented with at the time. It’s not self-loathing or self-deprecation leading him down this path, though that is where it ends. It’s a clearly observable fact that Starscream is unpleasant to be around, a truly horrible mech, which makes his current state all the more embarrassing. He’s fallen helm over heels for a kind, intelligent, wonderfully gorgeous mech who couldn’t give less of a shit about him.
Sure, Wheeljack puts up with his presence. He’s actually fairly civil with Starscream to the point of tolerating a few evenings spent on this very same couch with a bottle of engex and some good, if awkward conversation. That’s all it is, though. Tolerance. Starscream can see the frustration and distaste in his eyes whenever he’s around, the way Wheeljack can’t wait to get away from him from the moment he enters the room. It should turn Starscream off, wound his pride or something like it would if it were literally any other mech, but it doesn’t. Somehow, it just makes him more desperate for Wheeljack’s attention.
So here he is, on his second glass of engex, thinking about what Wheeljack might be doing right now and feeling the hot tears roll slowly down his face. He’s not even sure what he’s upset about at the moment. A few minutes ago, it was the dismissive tone Wheeljack had taken with him when Starscream had expressed interest in joining him for a night of drinking at a new bar on 43rd Street. Now, it’s… what? The idea that Wheeljack’s out right now, having fun with friends, meeting people Starscream doesn’t know about, saying things Starscream can’t hear, doing things he can’t be involved in, hanging out with people who are better than Starscream in every way and are probably going to catch his attention and hold it and take the tiny sliver of it Starscream calls his own from him?
He’s pathetic. If Wheeljack knew about this, he’d be disgusted, creeped out, horrified that Starscream’s so possessive of him when he couldn’t care less about Starscream.
It’s a bit easier to come to terms with the fact that Wheeljack will never love him when he considers that nobody else will, either. Starscream, for exactly the sort of behavior he’d just displayed, will always be alone, and that’s for the best. He can’t hurt anyone if he can’t have anyone, and he won’t have anyone, so it’s a little easier than it might otherwise be to think about how Wheeljack might be the one.
Might. He’s sure Wheeljack is the one, as sure as he can be considering he’s not entirely sold on the existence of the one, the last person you’ll love, your true love, your Conjunx, whatever. He’s sure Wheeljack is the one for him, and he’s sure he’s the one for no one.
He finishes the second glass of engex and takes a moment to sit with the burn and the buzz, the pleasant beginnings of overcharge making their way through his veins. He’s going to binge drink tonight. He already knows it.There’s no point in fighting it. If he doesn’t, he’ll just end up doing something else. Self-harming, sobbing on the bathroom floor, losing himself in flashbacks, going out and finding a hookup and then losing himself in flashbacks. The typical Friday night selection. Binge drinking really isn’t any worse than the other things he could do to himself, and at least he’s choosing this one. There’s something comforting about drinking himself sick, gulping down glass after glass until he knows he’ll purge his tanks, knows he’ll pass out and wake up the next morning too hungover to stand. Self-inflicted, that’s the word.
Well, now that he’s committed himself to drinking himself into a coma, he’s got some more choices to make. There are a variety of things he could do alone and drunk in his apartment, some of them even fun. He could masturbate, he could watch television, he could take a bath, he could…
Well, he could masturbate, watch television, or take a bath. None of those are mutually exclusive. In fact, masturbating in the bath sounds like a particularly inviting option. As soon as he’s got his hand on his node, though, he’s thinking about Wheeljack, and he just--he can’t. It’s not guilt, not quite, but it’s… no. It’s not going to work.
That’s not to say he hasn’t gotten himself off to thoughts of Wheeljack in the past. He doesn’t actually have a moral issue with masturbating to someone who’s not interested in him, or, at least, he never has in the past. The last time he tried to think of Wheeljack, though, he imagined Wheeljack’s reaction to knowing Starscream jerked off to him, and the disgust and horror turned him off pretty much immediately. He knows there’s nothing wrong with it, that Wheeljack won’t know and other people do similar things all the time, but, well.
Megatron had a collection of pictures of Starscream. It’s not the same thing. He knows what he feels for Wheeljack isn’t the same thing, but he also knows that particular brand of disgusted horror very intimately, and has no desire to inflict it on Wheeljack.
He pours another drink.